The Mansion
by kwater
Summary: Sam and Dean find themselves in small town America on a hunt to stop people from dissapearing.
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, Janey, it'll be fun." Chrissie turned and urged her friend on. "Besides, if we back out it'll be all over school tomorrow."

"Chrissie, this is just seriously creepy. You know what Jake was saying last week, people have gone missing." Janey glanced at her petite friend walking determinately down the tree-covered drive.

"You seriously don't believe that crap do you? I mean come on. who does Jake know that went missing. It's just a load of bullshit." Chrissie strode down the crumbling driveway, determined to prove she was no chicken.

It had been yesterday that one of the most popular girls in the senior class had dared Chrissie to visit the local haunted house. She knew that this was a test, if Chrissie passed, she'd be welcomed into one of the most popular cliques in school. If she couldn't summon the nerve, she'd be labeled a child, a loser and would be banished, made to suffer through her senior year amongst the unknown.

Janey walked reluctantly by her best friend. "I just don't see why we can't get drunk and make out with strangers instead. This place has a seriously creepy vibe." Janey reached out and grabbed her friend's arm, spinning her around to face her. "Plus, I heard that gang members and Satanists hang out here. I mean who knows someone could be up there right now, watching us."

Chrissie rolled her eyes at the dramatic sigh that followed this outrageous speech. "Satanists, gang members, have you forgotten we live in Furlong? I mean come on, Janey, who do you think in this town is a practicing Satanist, Mrs. Hanson our fourth grade teacher." Chrissie turned and resolutely began walking up the quickly darkening drive.

Janey quickened her pace, anxious not to be left behind and snorted a laugh. "Well, you know if anyone is, it would be her. Friggin' nut job."

The two girls continued up the drive. Finally, as the trees began blocking the last rays of dying sunshine, they switched on the flashlights they had brought. As they neared a clearing, the remains of a house came into view. The house was huge. Made of solid brick, it had three stories, a wrap around porch, and two wings balanced, gracefully, on either side of the main house.

Even now, people in town referred to it as The Mansion. Abandoned around the 1950's, it had changed hands several times but had remained empty. Rumors abounded as to why no one ever occupied the palatial home again, but over the years, the stories had become more and more outrageous. It had become tradition for the local high school kids to 'dare' each other to walk the grounds.

Tonight's mission, though, was a bit over the top, Chrissie admitted to herself. Tara, the senior, had insisted that Chrissie and Janey actually go inside. As proof of their visit, they were to take something from the inside. Chrissie was hoping beyond all hope that they could manage to just sort of lean into the abandoned home and grab their proof.

As the two girls reached the front of the home, flashlights bobbing, they glanced at each other nervously. Although, the main part of the house was still standing sturdily against the elements, the wings of the home, which had been made of wood, were a wreck. The porch looked saggy and unstable, and the stairs leading up to it where all but rotted through.

Chrissie drew in a determined breath and said, "Let's try around back. I don't want to risk the porch and there must be other ways to get in."

Janey reached out and grasped Chrissie's hand, firming her jaw she nodded. "Alright, but I'm telling you we are going to grab something and get out. This place looks as if a strong wind might knock it down." Janey breathed a sigh of relief at Chrissie's agreeing nod.

Holding hands, the two teenage girls made their way around the right side of the house, following the driveway once more. As they edged around the house, darkness descended for real. The house became nothing than a hulking shadow that towered over the girls.

As they rounded it, they noticed years worth of abandoned junk lying in heaps on the ground. Hulled out mattresses, broken tables, chairs, car parts and even the rusted out frame of an old VW bug, had been abandoned. And of course, there was also the requisite broken beer bottles, discarded coolers, and various pieces of clothing.

Janey gestured to a bra hanging from the hulked out remains of an old ford pick up truck's rear view mirror. "I don't think there's a guy on this planet that could convince me to take my bra off here."

Chrissie grinned wickedly. "Oh, I don't know. I've heard tell you're willing to pull yours off just about anywhere."

Janey reached out and punched her friend on the arm. "Like you're one to talk, I heard you taught half the boys in our grade how to undo a bra strap one-handed."

Chrissie snorted and grinned, she was about to reply as they turned the corner of the house. Instead, the sight of the back of the house caught her attention. "Oh, it must have been beautiful back here."

Janey could only nod in reply. What looked to be a stone patio stretched out from a set of what should have been French doors. Large broken urns and flowerbeds surrounded the patio. Even with only the moonlight and a dim flashlight in her hand Janey could see Chrissie's point. "What a shame no one ever moved back in. Can you imagine growing up in a place like this?"

Chrissie and Janey moved forward onto the patio, with the intention of entering the house through the double doors. It was only as they shined their lights into the doorway, both girls noticed how dim the flashlights had become.

"Uh, Chrissie, you didn't bring spare batteries did you?" Janey asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Chrissie drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Gripping Janey's hand even tighter, she moved forward in a hurry. "I'm going to shut mine off, we'll use yours until it goes out and then we'll use mine. If we hurry we should be on our way back down the drive before they're both dead."

Practically dragging her friend behind her, Chrissie hurried through the glassless doors. Using Janey's dying light, Chrissie began looking for something, anything that would convince people that they had entered the house.

Shining the light toward one wall, Chrissie noticed the ragged and mildewy wallpaper that still clung to parts of the plaster walls. Dropping Janey's hand, she darted forward. Carefully climbing over the piles of debris, she grasped a loose end in her hand. Pulling carefully, she wrinkled her nose at the sudden smell of mold. Chrissie pulled a large strip from the wall, spinning triumphantly and waving the paper in the air, she called out, "See that, Janey, easy as ... Janey?"

Chrissie stared in confusion at her friend. Janey was staring, unblinkingly, at a door that led deeper into the house. Chrissie followed her gaze and gasped, dropping not only the wallpaper, but also the flashlight, which slid across the floor and winked out.

Chrissie moved blindly toward her friend, unable to take her eyes off where she thought the door was. As she shuffled across the floor, her foot snagged on a loose board, and she fell to the ground.

Barely able to catch herself with her hands, she scraped both palms on the rough wooden floor. Not bothering to stand the young girl crawled forward. Pain ripped through her hands and knees as she scrabbled over the refuse that littered the floor.

"Janey, answer me, Janey," Chrissie called out, desperately. She thought, she was moving toward her friend but she couldn't be sure. In a moment of panic, she found herself wondering if she'd managed to get turned around and was heading for the doorway instead. Chrissie was crying in desperation, when her hands felt the familiar feeling of a canvas sneaker. Wrapping her hand around Janey's leg, she ignored her friend's full-throated scream.

"It's me, Janey," Chrissie reassured her, over and over again, practically pulling herself up the girl's leg, until she gained her feet. Feeling for Janey's right hand, Chrissie gasped in relief at the feel of the flashlight.

Preparing to turn it on, she was surprised when Janey gripped her wrist tightly and said, "Don't, we'll lose our nerve. Just head for the doorway."

Chrissie was about to protest, but instead, reached out and grabbed Janey's sweatshirt. Determined not to look back she fled toward the rectangle of light that beckoned her forward.

It was only as the two girls stumbled out into the night, they noticed a low, vicious, growl emanating from directly behind them. Breaking into a run, both girls stumbled through the night.

888

The young man lay prone on the hood of the car, his back, heated by the sun-warmed combination of glass and metal. Sunglasses blocking the intense light, a sweating bottle of soda resting between his jean-clad thighs. Shirt off, skin already tinted with bronze and a faint sheen of sweat, the man seemed oblivious to his surroundings.

Oblivious to the sounds of the stream that flowed swiftly by, filled to bursting from spring rains. Oblivious to the sounds of children playing and dogs barking, even the noise from the nearby paper factory didn't seem to disturb him.

Sam shook his head at the sight of Dean, lying back against the Impala's windshield, warming himself in the afternoon sunshine. Sam couldn't say that he blamed his older brother for wanting to soak up the first real rays of spring sunshine.

They'd spent the last week, in the dark. Cold rain pounding on their backs, as they dug up grave after grave. Yeah, mass hauntings not exactly the Winchester brothers idea of a good time.

Sam started across the parking lot. He was now regretting that he'd volunteered to check out the library, located across the street from the township park. Normally, he didn't mind an hour well spent in a library, but today was the first harbinger of spring. And to Sam, playing hooky suddenly sounded like a grand idea.

He was within a few feet of his brother, when he noticed a group of people not more that ten feet from the Impala.

Frowning in confusion, Sam noted that the group was made up of woman. Most looked to be moms with small children and a handful were older teenage girls. There even seemed to be a grandmother or two.

Watching, he hopped onto the hood of the car next to his brother and shrugged off his sweatshirt and long sleeved shirt. Clad in only a tee- shirt, Sam noticed a ripple of noise go through the gathering ladies.

"Go ahead, Sam, give them a show. Liven things up a bit for them," Dean said, in a low voice. Even though he remained still as stone, Sam could hear the laughter in his voice.

Sam stared at Dean in incredulity. "You knew they were there. Dean, there's like fifteen woman in the group, half of them could be your very older sister and the other half scream jailbait."

Dean finally gave up pretending to sleep and grinned at his little brother. "Come on, Sam, a guys got to amuse himself somehow. You were in there forever." Dean sat up and gestured toward the library, smiling in amusement at the ripple of appreciation that floated through the crowd.

Sam took in his brother's smug smile and couldn't help but return it. Leave it Dean to give the woman of Glen's Crossing something to talk about.

Dean slid off the hood of the car and threw a wave to his 'audience'. Shrugging on his tee-shirt, he grinned at Sam, before disappearing into the open, driver's side door.

As Sam slid off the hood, his intention was to ignore the shouts and catcalls from the crowd. However, as he opened the door to the car and prepared to climb in, he heard Dean say, "Come on, Sammy, just give'em a wink and wave. Just give them a bit, you know, just enough, gotta leave them wanting more."

Sam looked at Dean's grinning face and realized it had been awhile since he'd seen his brother truly smile. What the hell, thought Sam. Turning toward the crowd, he flipped them a wave and grinned as he slid into the car.

As Dean pulled out onto the tree-lined street in a burn out worthy of a racetrack, Sam couldn't help but laugh, waving a hand out the window. The cheer that followed the boys down the street would have rivaled any crowd of beered up, race fans.

"You're such a sucker for attention," Dean said, as he leaned forward to snap the knob of the radio on. Head bobbing in time, attention focused on the road, he nonetheless could feel his brother's outrage.

"Dean, are you kidding me, you're the one giving them a peep show, all I did was wave." Sam snorted.

"Ah, Sam, you're too easy. Now get your mind out of the gutter and tell me what you found." Dean laughed. "Peep show, please, Sam, have you ever even been to a peep show?" Dean glanced sideways at the slow grin that spread across his baby brother's face. "Oh, Sammy, Sammy we'll get back to that story in a minute. Now, where're we headed?"

Leaning back against the hot leather, Sam allowed the spring air to flow past him. Ready to enjoy a bit of the afternoon light, Sam said, "Furlong, Pennsylvania."

Dean reached out and clapped Sam on the chest. "Sit back and relax, princess, we've got miles to go."


	2. Chapter 2

"Goddamn shit. Awww, look at this, crap."

Sam sat up in alarm at the panic in Dean's voice. Blinking away the last dregs of sleep, Sam stared about in confusion. Not able to find what was angering Dean, he asked, "What's wrong?"

Dean gestured toward the road spread out in front of them. "Read the frickin' sign, Sam."

Sam focused his bleary eyes on a sign reading 'Freshly Oiled' and had to bite back his laughter. Dean must have sensed Sam's urge to laugh though, reaching out he cuffed Sam on the back of the head.

"It's not funny, do you know how hard it is to get tar off the paint? Not to mention all the rocks that get kicked up, I'll be buffing out scratches for weeks." Dean slowed the Impala down even more.

Sam glanced at the speedometer and noted that Dean was on the slow side of twenty miles an hour. Turning his head to look at the road behind them, Sam could only grin at the line of traffic that stretched out behind the car. "You know, if you don't speed up someone's going to try and pass you. Having someone pass you on this gravel's a good way to get a stone kicked up, might even chip the windshield or the hood." Sam hid his smile at the thundercloud expression on Dean's face.

"What kind of fucked up town puts down a layer of tar, covers it with rock and calls it a road? I'm telling you now, Sam, my vote is we put Furlong in the rearview and let the townspeople fend for themselves. Who knows, maybe the road crew guys will bite it first and justice will have been served." Dean glanced once more in the rearview and spied the pickup behind him moving to pass him. Growling, Dean sped up to an almost acceptable thirty-five.

As Dean continued to act as a pace car for the cars behind, Sam took the opportunity to gather up the info he had collected yesterday. Finally, breathing a sigh of relief, Dean was able to turn off the stoned track and onto a slightly larger road; Sam began giving his brother the lowdown.

"Okay, so we have over ten sightings and eight disappearances over the last fifty years. Each sighting occurred at the same abandoned house outside of town, a place everyone refers to as the mansion." Sam flipped through the notes in his hand. "This time it was two high-schoolers on a dare."

"So, what are we talking about?" Dean asked breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of a small town up ahead.

Sam threw a glance toward Dean and hesitated slightly. "I'm not sure, it may honestly be nothing. You know just a local legend."

Dean drew in a breath as he parked in front of a small restaurant, with a sign proclaiming 'Best Pie in State'. Staring at the sign for a moment Dean released his pent up air. "This must be your lucky day, Sam. I was about to tear you a new one for making me wreck the car to come to this little gem of a town. But now, I find we're about to have the best pie in the state, so I think I'll let it slide." With these words, Dean got out of the car and stalked away.

Sam laughed as he gathered his notes and followed his brother into the restaurant. Seating themselves as the sign suggested, Sam and Dean took a booth near the front window. Dean was eagerly perusing the menu, when a waitress baring the name 'Candy' sauntered up to the table. Sam watched as Candy's eyes widened at the sight of the two men.

"Well, hello there. You two lost?" Candy asked staring at the brothers as if they were a cold drink of water on a hot day.

Sam noticed that Dean, barely smiling said dismissively, "Something like that, so I'll take the special with fries, a piece of the cherry pie and a cup of coffee."

As Sam felt the full impact of Candy's raccoon eyes and teased hair, he noticed the sunlight glinting off a wedding band. Understanding dawned as to why his brother wasn't bothering with the young girl. "I'll take the tuna club, with chips, and a coke." Closing his menu, Sam handed it back to the young girl with a smile.

Sam felt Dean kick him in the shins, barely able to stifle a curse, Sam shot a glare at Dean. It was only as the waitress sat herself down next to him, mascared eyes fluttering madly that he realized what he'd done.

"I knew you boys weren't from around here. All we ever get are locals, why I don't think I've waited on a stranger this month. So, you two going to be in town long?" Candy asked twirling a lock of bleach blonde hair around one finger.

Dean couldn't believe Sam had encouraged the girl. After all, his little brother was usually the surly one. Dean needed to remember to have a chat with Sam about garnering unwanted attention. Girls like this looked like trouble, sounded like trouble, and, thought Dean as he wrinkled his nose, smelled like trouble. He had no doubt that the owner of the ring she wore around her finger was named Tiny, or Bubba, or something close to it and that he habitually beat up any man seen talking with the girl. She was trouble the boys didn't need.

Listening to the girl jabber on, Dean realized she'd yet to put in their order. Not willing to waste another moment on her flirting, Dean finally said, "We're just passing through, Candy, and we're in a hurry. Got work you know, so if you could get that order for us, that'd be great." Dean smiled slightly and looked away, dismissing the girl without a word spoken.

Sam watched through the hazy fumes of Candy's perfume at the impressive way his brother had shot down the outgoing waitress. Watching her flounce away in a huff, to put in their orders Sam said, "Wow, Dean I don't think I've ever seen you turn away a woman. I didn't know you could."

"Yeah well, if you'd managed to be a bit more observant I wouldn't have needed to send her off, twice. You can't go shooting that smile off to just anyone you know, you gotta know when to hold 'em and know when to fold 'em," Dean said returning his brother's grin with a wink.

"I thought that was poker and since when are you a Kenny Rogers fan?" Sam asked, a questioning look on his face.

Dean leaned back arms, resting along the back of the both, with a wink he said, "Dude, the Gambler's a classic, and besides, Sam, there's tons you don't know about me."

Sam grinned and said, "Alright, mystery man, well as I was saying earlier, each eyewitness has seen something in or around this house."

"You keep saying something, Sam. I mean don't these people give a description?" Dean asked leaning forward in anticipation as Candy brought him a coffee. Dean accepted it, and simply nodded his thanks. Careful not to make eye contact he was glad to see Sam was following his lead.

Sam sipped his coke and answered, "Each one had a different description, and the only thing in common was that it was some sort of animal. Now, of the people that went missing, five were local hunters, two were students, the eighth was a surveyor. The disappearances have spanned the last fifty years and the occurrences were so widespread that no one seems to have picked up on it."

Dean nodded as his dinner arrived; ignoring the plate of fried chicken that was placed before him, he dug into the slice of pie. Groaning in appreciation, he looked up and sent Candy a wink. Oh shit, was his first thought, as the girl's eyes lit up, his second was ouch, as Sam's foot made contact with his shin.

888

Dean shoved open the glass door, and without pause headed for the car. Soothed as always, by the sight of chrome gleaming in the moonlight, Dean resolutely ignored the cackling laugh of his brother. Refusing even to look at Sam, Dean quickly opened the door and slid onto the driver's seat.

Sam slid weakly into his seat, holding his sides, still unable and unwilling to hold back the laughter. "Oh, know when to fold them, God that was priceless, Dean, can you make that face again? You know the one where you realize you just gained yourself a stalker."

Dean put the key in the ignition, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly he willed himself to gain control. Closing his eyes, jaw clenched, Dean asked, "You planning on laughing like a little girl all night, Francis? Or, do you think there's somewhere we ought to be?"

Sam's laughter had now, turned into the occasional guffaw as he pictured the deer in the headlights look, Dean had worn once he realized his mistake. "Let's find a room first; the later it is probably the better."

At Dean's nod, Sam leaned back and watched the small town flow past the car's window. The brothers had learned from Candy that the town of Furlong was a small one. Consisting of Main Street, the only stores inside town limits were the restaurant, an auto repair, a drug store/general store, and a grocery store. It was also the type of town, where he and Dean stood out like sore thumbs. As good as, they'd gotten at cover stories and convincing people to talk, the town of Furlong may be leery of sharing its secrets with two out-of-towners.

"We're gonna need to find a library tomorrow. We need more details before we start asking questions," Sam said glancing at his brother.

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan, we'll hit the library do some research and then head over to talk with the two latest victims."

Dean suddenly grinned. "Hard part'll be finding a place for breakfast, cause I have no intention of going near Candy again."

888

The black car rumbled down the road, slowing to a stop in front of a break in the heavily wooded shoulder. Lights off, the car blended with the night, only the gleam of chrome in the moonlight and the sound of the engine gave away its position. A tall figure slipped from the car and staying in the shadows made its way up the overgrown driveway. A moment later, the chain that blocked the end of the drive was lowered and the figure was waving the big car up the driveway. Once the car was parked about thirty feet up the driveway, the engine was shut off. Again, the door swung open and another shadow joined the first.

Dean glanced back at the Impala and was satisfied that it was likely to go unnoticed by any late night traffic. Sam had replaced the chain loosely to not draw attention, but it could still be lowered in a hurry. Not that the rusted chain was any match for the Impala's grill, but Dean had no intention of abusing his car that way, not if he could help it.

Dean and Sam moved toward the trunk and using an economy of motion picked out their shotguns, a couple spare shells, flashlights and the EMF. Shutting the trunk carefully to limit the noise, the two brothers moved out in a jog. They'd unfortunately gotten a later start than planned, the full moon was already on its way down.

Dean jogged smoothly down the beaten path, confident in the moonlight to leave his flashlight off for the moment. "This sucks we should have been out here hours ago, we'll be lucky to find anything it's so close to morning."

Sam nodded, breathing smoothly, arms pumping up and down in rhythm. "I can't believe the clerk at the motel. He was a better interrogator than Dad, and god knows Dad could have been a professional."

Dean grinned and said, "Remember one night, you were about seventeen and you didn't come home. I covered for you, had it all set up. You finally come rolling up the next morning and all you had to say was you were with your buddies. But no, one raised eyebrow from Dad and you were spilling your guts. You never were able to lie to him Sam, at least not till it counted," Dean said referencing the lie of all lies that Sam had managed to keep, his senior year of high school. His acceptance into Stanford was a secret even Dean hadn't guessed until the end.

Sam glanced at his brother loping beside him, Dean ran like he did everything in life, swift and sure. "That and not telling Jess who I really was, they were the only two secrets I've ever regretted keeping. I should have been upfront with you, Dean. I know you would have stood by me. It was stupid for me to hide it from you; I just didn't want to ruin things between us." Sam glanced at his brother once again, trying to gauge Dean's reaction to his words.

"I get why you did it, Sam. You didn't have to though." Dean reached out and clapped Sam on the shoulder, almost knocking the younger man over. Hoping that his younger brother would accept the gesture for what it was, a sign of affection.

"Aw, shit, Dean. Stop doing that one of these times I'm going to..." Sam's words trailed off as the brothers came around a bend in the road. Sam and Dean stopped in their tracks, awe on their faces as they stared up at the ruin that was before them.

"Holy crap," Dean whispered. "How is that a house? I mean it looks like a school or something."

Sam shook his head in amazement, "I have no idea. I mean the place has gotta have at least seven chimneys."

As they neared the once beautiful home, they both went on alert. Shotguns at the ready, Dean turned on the EMF, watching the needle for any signs of movement. Sam led the way, skirting a pile of broken clay skeet and discarded boxes of ammo shells, cases worth of broken beer bottles and even a couple pieces of furniture, some half-burned.

"What a shame, that a place like this can lie forgotten," Sam said his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. Other than a sense of danger, due to the disrepair of the house, all seemed quiet.

"Other than tetanus, Sam I can't see us getting anything out here. Let's head inside, maybe we'll get a visit." Sam nodded his agreement and followed Dean around the back of the house.

As Dean approached the wide brick patio, he paused once again giving his attention to the EMF monitor in his hand. "I'm still getting nothing Sam, what about you got any psychic mojo working?"

Sam shook his head and approached the gaping hole that had once been a set of French doors. Waiting for Dean to join him, the brothers pulled out their flashlights and flicked them on. Nodding at Dean, Sam went first entering a large room. A sweep of the light showed Sam that the house had been abandoned; much of the furniture was still in the room. Sam moved along the floor with caution careful to keep a wary eye on his surroundings. Dean was only a pace behind him; his light also, making long sweeps of their surroundings.

Dean paused for a moment gazing at the still quiet EMF meter. Glancing up, he noticed that Sam was headed toward an open door that led farther into the house. Dean moved swiftly toward him not wanting to lose sight of him. In a place this size a person could wander for a good long while before he was found.

As Sam stepped down a long hall, glancing at the pictures that still hung along the corridor. Pictures of people of varying ages and in different modes of dress were encased in mold-covered glass. Sam shook his head, curious as to what had caused the owners of the house to just pick up and leave without bothering to take their belongings. A glance over his shoulder showed Dean a foot back, watching both the meter and their backs.

"Careful of your footing, Sammy, this place is rotting..." Dean's words were cut off by a loud creak.

Sam felt his foot break through the rotted flooring, as the floor beneath him gave way. Reaching out grasping at anything he could, Sam felt a bolt of pain run from his wrist up and through his shoulder. Crying out, he realized that his fall had come to a sudden halt. Looking up into familiar green eyes, Sam tried to smile. "Thanks".

Dean's life had just passed before his eyes, one moment he'd been warning Sam and the next his brother had suddenly plunged through the wooden floor. Dean had dropped both flashlight and gun and had shot his hand out hoping to grip any part of his falling brother. Somehow, he'd managed to grasp Sammy's wrist, though he'd winced as the full weight of his six foot four brother had pulled him forward toward the hole.

Quickly adjusting his stance, Dean leaned almost horizontally away the hole. Sam's hand and wrist clutched in his own. Sweat burned his eyes as he struggled to pull Sam back, without getting any closer to the weakened edges of the hole. "Sam, give me your other hand, I can't pull you up this way." Dean ground out, as he began curling his arms desperately pulling Sam fraction by fraction toward him.

Sam glanced at where Dean's hand was wrapped around his own wrist; he could see the corded muscles in his brother's arm straining against the pull of Sam's weight. Sam was about to drop the flashlight that he'd miraculously kept, but a flicker of it's light caught his attention instead. Sam looked up once more toward his brother and said, "Drop me, Dean."

Dean kept pulling ignoring his brother's martyring words. "No way am I dropping you, grab hold." Adjusting his grip, Dean lost ground and slid slightly toward the hole, the resulting shift in weight caused the floor to protest once more with a loud groan.

Sam heard the sound and found himself panicking, if Dean didn't let him go his brother was liable to crash through the floor himself. The old wooden structure wouldn't hold on much longer, it was simply too rotted. Not wanting to waste time arguing Sam let go of Dean's hand and twisted his wrist.

"Sam, No," Dean yelled as he felt Sam wrench his hand out of Dean's grasp.


	3. Chapter 3

1"Goddamnit, Sam," Dean shouted as he lunged toward his falling brother. Grasping in vain, Dean was unable to see a thing in the inky darkness. The light from Sam's spiraling flashlight did no more than add to the confusion. Leaning as far as he dared, Dean shouted once more for Sam.

"Dean, get back from the edge. I'm fine but the floor's gonna go," Sam called out frantically. He'd landed as he'd expected on his feet, stumbling only slightly at the impact. What Sam had realized by the dim light of his flashlight was that his six foot four frame plus the added height of extended arms would leave him a fall of only a couple feet. His only concern had been that he was unable to see what he was going to land on.

Sam flashed his light toward the hole and saw his brother practically dangling over the edge. "Jesus, Dean, get back you're gonna end up falling in and bringing the floor down on both of us."

Dean was pissed, "Damnit, Sam, you can't do shit like that. You had no idea what you were falling onto; you could've gotten yourself impaled on something." Dean reluctantly moved back from the gaping hole. He had no interest in losing sight of Sam, but he couldn't risk bringing the floor down on top of him. "Any idea how we're going to get you out of there?"

Sam grimaced and said, "Hadn't got that far in my planning. Give me a minute, there's got to be a way back up." Sam ignored Dean's sarcastic snort and began moving cautiously around the basement floor. The smell was undeniably foul, a combination of the damp dirt floor and mold. Not to mention it smelled as if something had died down here. Probably an animal that had wandered in and couldn't find a way back out, thought Sam. Bending down with a triumphant yell, Sam picked up both the EMF and Dean's shotgun. His brother's flashlight was nowhere in sight but that was easily replaced.

Juggling both his own gun and his brother's, Sam returned to the hole and called up, "Hey man, I've got your gun and the meter. You must have dropped them down the hole when you caught me." Sam glanced up and said in a joking voice, "By the way, dude, in case I forget to mention it later, nice catch." Sam stared at the hole, waiting for Dean's sarcastic comeback. Sam grinned in the dark; he knew that he could expect an extra hard shove from Dean for scaring him, once they were back to safety of the car.

Sam stared for another moment at the hole, a sense of dread moving through him, "Dean, answer me man, Dean," Sam yelled. Sam glanced down at Dean's homemade EMF meter and turned it on. He didn't need to hear the shrill whistle or see the pulsing lights, to realize something bad was coming. He could feel it in the chill that was snaking down his back. He knew his brother would never leave a call from him unanswered. And there was no way he willingly moved from the hall, not without letting Sam know what he was doing. Calling for Dean repeatedly, Sam began searching the basement for another way out.

Sam's hand was on the cold, damp basement wall. His fingers trailing a path on the rough cinder blocks he kept his flashlight pinned to the wall ahead of him. Dean's fine, Sam thought to himself with something akin to panic. "He's fine," Sam, repeated aloud, after all, his brother had managed to survive much more than a simple haunted house in his long career. Unwillingly came to Sam's mind the witness accounts he had read, and the large dark creature that seemed to inhabit the house.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, Sam's brain kept stuttering the word over and over again. He knew it wasn't possible for the basement to not have some kind of opening either into the house or at least to the outside. Finally, realizing that panic was overwhelming him, he forced himself to stop moving and consider the basement.

From what he could tell, the basement was only a partial, with an earthen floor and no windows. Wait, thought Sam, no windows. Why wouldn't the basement have windows, he could distinctly remember passing window wells, as he and Dean had circled the house. Sam once again moved toward the wall and placed his hands upon it. This time instead of feeling waist high, he raised his arm and trailed his fingers above his head. Moving down the wall, Sam winced as a piece of splintered wood drove itself beneath one of his fingernails.

Pulling out the offending splinter, he reached up and felt the outline of what seemed to be a piece of plywood. Working his fingers under one edge of the board, he began pulling toward him. As he did, he noticed that the light of dawn was trying to work its way through the ever-widening crack. Finally, Sam had to admit he needed something other than his hands to remove the board. Pulling the hunting knife, he carried out of his jacket he wedged the tip under the board and began applying pressure. Not willing to snap the knife in half Sam worked patiently at all four sides of the board, loosening the nails that held it tight, little by little. Moments later Sam was able to get both hands behind the board, pulling toward him the plywood came loose with a groan. Sam looked at the two foot opening in relief, not even bothering to use the dim morning light to find a way back into the house, he levered himself up and out the window. Carefully avoiding the shattered glass that lay on the sill and in the grass, Sam gained his feet and in moments was sprinting towards the back of the house.

888

Dean stood a safe distance from the hole trying to still the pounding of his heart. Even knowing that Sam had landed safely still didn't cut the terror he'd felt as Sam's hand had slid from his own. I'm going to kick his ass, thought Dean, as soon as I'm sure he's alright. He listened carefully at the sound of Sammy moving around below him.

Holding back the impulse to lecture Sam about using care, Dean kept his focus trained on the light that flickered up from the hole. He was so intent on his brother, it took a moment for Dean to realize all the hair was standing up on the back of his neck. Turning slowly to glance behind him, he belatedly remembered that he was now without his gun. A shadow stood behind him, growling menacingly. The darkness of the hallway seemed to caress the creature making it impossible for him to make out what it was. Although, the shadow came no closer, it's deep throated growl became louder. Dean knew he needed to get out of here, now.

Unfortunately, continuing down the hallway was no longer an option, due to the large hole Sam had created. Dean glanced back down the way that he and Sam had come, he noted a door about halfway between him and the creature. Not happy with the distance, but not seeing many other options, Dean made a break for the door. Praying that it was unlocked and would open, Dean turned the knob and shoved at the door.

Slamming it shut behind him just as something large collided with it, Dean drew in a deep breath. Grateful that the old wooden door shuddered but held up under the assault, Dean remained pressed against it. Finally, the pounding stopped and all became quiet once more. He stood, back pressed against the door and tried to make out where he was. He had assumed the room would be some sort of bedroom, instead, he found himself in what appeared to be the kitchen.

A bank of windows against the far wall showed Dean, a sky that was beginning to lighten considerably. Breathing a sigh of relief, he checked out his surroundings. The kitchen was huge, more situated to a restaurant than a private residence. The appliances were dated and everything held a patina of dirt and cobwebs, a pair of intact swinging doors was situated in one wall and another door was in the third. In the middle of the now mostly broken windows was a door. Dean glanced through it and glimpsed what must have at one time been a large vegetable garden.

He was about to turn away from the door, when he saw a shaggy, brown haired young man pass by at a dead run. Shaking with relief, Dean called out to Sam.

Sam was so intent on getting to Dean, that his brother's shout in the early morning quiet almost stopped his heart. "Ah, crap, Dean," Sam said a hand to his chest, his face lighting up as he watched Dean came through the old frame of a screen door set in the side of the house. Without hesitation Sam walked over to Dean and slapped a hand down on his chest, hard enough to stagger his big brother. "Crap, am I glad to see you," Sam said as he handed his brother his shotgun.

Dean took the offered weapon and tried not to wince at the sudden pain in his chest. God, he thought, when had Sam gotten so strong. "You ready to get out of here?" At Sam's weary, nod the brothers turned and headed back to the driveway.

Dean kept an eye peeled for anything out of the ordinary, he assumed that the daylight would stop anything supernatural, but he still felt uneasy about the growling creature he'd hopefully left inside the house. A shotgun loaded with rock salt was great for spirits, but he knew it would do very little against something that seemed to be the size of a small bear. "How'd you get out of the hole, Houdini?" Dean questioned Sam as he began once again jogging down the long drive.

Sam, keeping up easily, grinned and said, "Window. I was looking for a door, but when you up and disappeared I figured faster was better."

Dean grimaced at Sam and said, "I didn't disappear kid, you did. Don't ever expect to let go of me like that again, Sam. Next time I'll follow you down regardless of what you say." Dean drew a breath of relief at the sight of the Impala shining in the early morning light. Reaching out and clapping Sam on the shoulder, Dean grinned in delight as Sam winced from the blow.

Sam moved toward the passenger side door, anxious to leave this place behind him for the time being. Hands resting on the roof of the car, he said, "You can't follow me everywhere, Dean."

Dean turned toward Sam mimicking his pose. "I'm telling you now, Sam, I can and I will." With a wink, Dean continued, "So you may want to think about that the next time your life's hanging by a handhold." Dean climbed into the car.

Sam shook his head at his brother's words, moving toward the chain to lower it to the ground. As Sam waved Dean out of the drive, he replaced the chain the best he could and walked to the waiting car. Smiling slightly, he took comfort from his older brother's words.

Sam climbed into the car, glad to be able to relax for the moment. Glancing at Dean, he asked, "So, you going to tell me what happened?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, knowing that Sam would give him a rasher of crap over what he had seen. What the hell, thought Dean. "I saw something." Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Dean had to smirk at the expression on Sam's face.

Sam paused for a moment, certain that Dean must have something else to add. "Something? Dean."

Dean nodded. "Yup, something big."

Sam settled into the seat stretching out as much as possible and leaned his head back against the seat. "Something big. Well that's helpful," Sam said as weariness settled over him. As his brother flipped on the radio, Sam found himself quickly lulled to sleep by the familiar sounds of the car.

Dean grinned at the sight of his already sleeping baby brother. It never ceased to amaze him that, Sam could fall asleep within minutes in the somewhat cramped front seat. Usually, as the brothers lay in a darkened motel room, his large frame stretched out comfortably, it took Sam close to a half-hour to drift off to sleep. Even then, his sleep was punctuated by tossing and turning.

Dean figured Sam's sleeping habits, probably arose from the fact that the Impala, had basically, been Sam's crib as a baby. Even before the fire, Dean could remember the family spending Sunday afternoons just cruising in the big black car. Sam sound asleep, John and Mary snuggled against each other on the big bench seat, and Dean eagerly watching the world pass him by.

Dean caressed the steering wheel lightly, and turned the machine toward the hotel. Sleep was first on the list, followed by food and research. He had no intention of returning to that house without some idea of what they were hunting.


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on, Sammy, let's get some sleep," Dean said as he reached out and shook Sam's shoulder. Dean sighed and glanced at his watch, unsurprised to see it was already after seven o'clock in the morning.

Sam sat up slowly rubbing his eyes tiredly; nodding at Dean, he slid out of the car and headed toward their room. Dean followed every bit as sleepy, and wanting nothing more than a hot shower. The grime of the house seemed to have rubbed off on him and he found himself itching to be clean.

888

Dean awoke to the sound of the shower, glancing blearily at his watch he noted that it was after noon. Letting his hand rest covering his eyes, he groaned with weariness, four hours of sleep, in two days, just wasn't enough. Dropping his arm as he heard the bathroom door open, but not bothering to open his eyes, Dean called out to his brother, "Any coffee, Dude?"

Sam grinned and shrugged into his tee shirt, sitting on the end of Dean's bed to pull on his shoes and socks, he said, "On the table waiting for you." Sam watched as his brother climbed wearily out of bed. Dean stretched his arms up over his head, wincing in pain. Frowning Sam asked, "What's wrong?"

Ignoring Sam's question, Dean grabbed his coffee, taking a sip he groaned in pleasure. "God, that hits the spot, where'd you get it?" Dean opened his duffle and pulled out a change of clothes and his kit.

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's evasion tactics. The coffee had come from a vending machine in the lobby and had roughly the same taste and texture as sludge. Not that Sam was in the habit of drinking sludge, but he figured it would taste only slightly better than the coffee. "Vending machine, so why the face. Are you injured or just getting old?" Sam snarked hoping to anger his brother into a response.

Dean grimaced. "I didn't make a face. I'm fine, just a little tight in the shoulders is all. As for getting old, I can still kick your ass so you'd better watch what you say." Dean walked into the bathroom effectively cutting off the conversation.

Sam jerked on his shoes, pulling the laces tight as a realization hit him. He couldn't believe he was so stupid, no one, not even Dean managed to catch a grown man in mid-air and not pull a couple of muscles. Sam stood up and rifled through the first aid kit, pulled out the aspirin and set it next to Dean's coffee. Opening his laptop, the first thing he looked up was the local library. Jotting down the address, he began researching the property.

Dean stood under the hot spray flexing his shoulder and back, he'd hoped a shower would help ease the pain and stiffness that seemed to start in his shoulder and end near his elbow. Dean had pulled many muscles over the years and he knew the only thing that helped were a couple of aspirin and a hot shower. Groaning as the hot water cascaded down his back, loosening tight muscles, he found himself thankful that Sam had left him some hot water. As the water finally began running cold, he reluctantly turned it off and got out. Toweling off, he swiped a hand across the mirror and set about shaving. He found himself grinning as he listened to Sam's fingers fly across the computer keys. Now, they'd make some progress, Dean thought.

Dean emerged ten minutes later, still feeling sore, but nothing too major. As he gathered up his jacket and keys, he noted the aspirin bottle resting next to his coffee. Dean smiled and popped a couple of the pills, washing them down with the coffee. "Thanks, Sammy," Dean said as he motioned his little brother toward the door. "Let's find something to eat, and maybe some coffee that doesn't have an oil slick floating on top."

Sam laughed and moved past his brother out into the heat of the day. Settling into the Impala, Sam turned toward his brother and grinned. "Found us a place to eat, it's a little bar down on the south side of town. Can't guarantee we won't end up with food poisoning but at least we'll avoid your stalker."

Dean released a pent up breath and said, "Oh, thank god. I was debating just how long I could go without eating." Dean put the car in gear and pulled out onto the road.

As Dean parked at the tiny bar, with a sign proclaiming Jumpin' Joe's, Sam could only roll his eyes. He'd been kidding Dean about the food poisoning, but looking at the place now he wasn't so sure. He watched as Dean climbed out of the car, an intent look on his face. Sighing, Sam joined his brother as they crossed the parking lot.

Dean held the door open for Sam, lifting an eyebrow as his little brother passed him. "Hope you like a little food with your grease, Sam." Dean teased his health conscious little brother. The Winchesters made their way up to the bar, both brothers automatically opting to sit at the far end, facing the other patrons and the entrance. Looking around for a menu, Dean noticed it scrawled in chalk on a board above the bar.

"Awww, Sorry, Sam, no grilled chicken or salad on the list," Dean said. Upon catching a glimpse of the barmaid that was walking toward them, Dean actually allowed his forehead to thump against the bar. Turning his head, he exchanged bewildered glances with Sam. The bleach blonde barmaid, who's nametag read Mandy, had brown eyes rimmed in mascara, blue eye shadow, and lips outlined in hot pink. And, other than the obvious age difference, could have been twins with Candy. Dean watched nonplussed as the waitress thoroughly checked out the two brothers. Leaning forward over the bar, she allowed them a, not so subtle, view of her hot pink bra.

"Let me guess you boys are out of towners, right?" Twirling a lock of blond hair around her finger Mandy continued, "Yep, gotta be cause I've never seen you in here before and trust me when I say I'd remember you two," the outspoken woman said with a wink.

Dean drew a deep breath and desperately pulled his eyes away from the woman's gaping cleavage. "Can we get a couple of beers and two of the cheeseburger specials?" Dean kept his reply curt hoping it would send the older woman on her way. Older woman, hell, Mandy was old enough to be Sam's mom.

Mandy looked slightly taken aback at the handsome man's offhand reply. Shrugging in a huff, she went to fetch two bottles from the cooler. Moments later, she set a bottle in front of each of the men. Ready to try again, she nonchalantly shrugged her low cut tee a little lower. Leaning even farther over the bar, she said, "So, anyway you didn't say, are you guys just passing through or looking to settle down around here. Cause, I'm telling you, we're really friendly around here."

Sam could feel his eyes, drawn once again back to Mandy's impressive chest. Finally, in desperation he rudely turned his back on her and said, "Can we get that food to go?"

Dean nodded in agreement and turned his back on the barmaid. Watching the girl flounce away in a huff, Dean whispered, "What are the chances that Mandy and Candy are related. I just can't tell if they're mother and daughter or sisters." Dean shivered theatrically. "Smart thinking take-out we're better off eating in the car."

Sam nodded his agreement and said, "We'd better get this job over with, or else we're going to run out of places to eat."

Dean snorted and said, "How many more of them can there be?" Turning toward the barmaid as she brought out two brown bags, Dean paid for the food and beer and then left a generous tip. Nodding tightly, he followed Sam outside once again into the bright afternoon light.

Dean drove one handed, a cheeseburger gripped in his other, toward the town library. Taking a bite, he was once again surprised at just how good it was. Even Sam had been hard pressed to complain about the food. "So, Sam, I know you're dying to share with the class. What'd you find out, this morning?"

Sam wiped his hands on a napkin and pulled out his notes, reading them over he gave Dean a general overview of what he'd learned. "Alright, the house was built in 1942, the grounds seem clean, and nothing existed on the land before construction began. A man named Howard Demonte built it for his wife and three children. Unfortunately, no one ever occupied it; the family moved in the spring of 1950, stayed one night, and abandoned the property the next day. No explanations, they never returned and the home has remained abandoned ever since."

Dean frowned. "They spent one night in the place, did they disappear, or did they just take off?"

"I found references of Howard after 1950. After that apparently he became a recluse, giving control of his corporation to his VP, he faded into the background. I'm not sure about his family though, I can't find any mention of them after they left the house. To be honest I can't even tell for sure if they did leave the house. Apparently the Demontes' were new to the area and no one thought anything of it when they just up and left." Sam took another bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully, he continued, "Maybe Howard went all 'Shining' on them and no one ever found out."

Dean nodded and said, "That would explain the presence. Makes you wonder if he was driven to kill them or if he was just ten kinds of crazy."

Sam shook his head, looking up from the notes he was reading, he stared at Dean in question as his brother brought the Impala to a stop in front of a tiny cape cod home. He heard his brother snort in laughter as he pullled up alongside the curb.

"No, this can't be right. It's not possible, I mean it's a joke right." Sam's voice had risen an octave and it was all Dean could do to remain upright as the laughter ripped through him.

Sam ignored his brother's amusement and stared at the small hand carved sign stuck in the ground in front of the building, Furlong Public Library. "No, there's no way this is the library" Sam hadn't even realized he'd spoken out loud until he heard Dean's answer.

"Sorry, Sam, this is it." Dean was still laughing. He took the glare that Sam sent him with a shrug of his shoulders and led the way into the small house.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look as they stood in the doorway of the library, one large room, that had probably at one time been both the living room and dining room, was spread out before the brothers. Bookshelves lined all four walls and reached the eight-foot ceilings. Stacks of shelves outlined the walls, leaving the center of the room, for tables and chairs. Looking left, Sam saw the check out desk. Approaching the elderly woman that appeared to be napping behind the counter, Sam cleared his throat loudly.

Dean looked at the grey haired woman that sat in a straight-backed chair hands, folded on a corpulent waist, chin resting on her chest. She'd shown no sign of waking at Sam's delicate cough. Dean waited one more minute before leaning forward and ringing the bell that sat on the counter.

At the sound of the bell, the woman sat up straight and smiled brightly at the Winchesters. Sam couldn't help but return her smile. With a wink the little woman slid from the chair and said, "You boys caught me napping, heat of the day you know, can't resist a little cat nap." Placing her hands on the counter in front of her she said, "Now, what can I do you for?"

Sam smiled and asked, "We're reporters with the Free Press and we're doing a story on the Mansion. I was hoping you might have the back issues of the local paper."

At mention of the Mansion, the old woman's eyes lit up. "Ohh, it's been years since anyone asked about that old place. No need for you to strain your eyes over old newsprint though, I can tell you anything you need to know about the place. Why I've lived here the better part of seventy years. My name's Carol Potts, by the way." Carol shook hands with the two young men.

"My names Sam and this is Dean, we'd appreciate anything you could tell us," Sam said taking out his notepad.

Carol laughed. "Nonsense, I'm not going to gossip sitting in this old place. Let's go out onto the porch, I've just made a batch of sun-tea, and a lemon iced cake." Carol moved out from behind the counter and walked to the front door, flipping the 'yes we're open sign' to closed, she led the way towards the back of the room. Gesturing for the brother's to follow, she asked over her shoulder "So, what do you know so far?"

Sam quickly outlined what he'd learned, earning a nod from the elderly woman. "You've done your homework, Young Man. But I've got to tell you, you don't know half of what happened all those years ago." Turning with a wink, she continued, "It was your lucky day, coming here."

888

Dean sat in a rocking chair; the mid afternoon sun blocked from view by the wide porch roof and happily ate his second slice of lemon cake. Smiling in contentment, he took a sip of his tea, and leaned back in his chair.

Carol settled herself on an old white rocker and set the chair moving; setting down her own empty plate she sat back and began.

"Howard Demonte was a coal man. Made his fortune several times over here in Pennsylvania, his wife Maryanne and his three young boys lived in Harrisburg. Howie himself moved around from mine to mine, overseeing the company. After a while, I guess he got it in his head that he needed a home that reflected his monetary status. Though, from what I heard if he'd built a house that reflected his morality it would have been a one room shack." Carol nodded firmly.

"Yep, the man was a bastard and like so many others his fortune was built off of the sweat and blood of others. Well, as I said he wanted to build a home for his family, only he didn't want to settle in Harrisburg, to far of a commute to his mines. So he convinced his wife to build here, rumor has it that she was none too happy to be leaving the state capital. In retaliation, she demanded that he build a home worthy of her status as his wife. Now, I was in my early twenties when construction began, and I believe I was twenty-nine by the time it was finished." Carol's eyes seemed to loose focus as she remembered the house in all its glory.

"I've never seen the like, not even when I traveled to Washington on my twentieth anniversary. The Mansion was incredible, have you boys seen it yet?" At the brother's confirming nods, Carole said, "Pah, you haven't seen anything. I saw it in all it's glory and oh, what a sight it was. The funny thing was that Howard and Maryanne never came to look at the place as it was being built. Oh, they had an architect and a supervisor that made sure their ideas were carried out, but they never came to town to see it. It was finally finished and furnished on May 16, 1950 and many about these parts speculated that the Demonte family would host an open house. We all found ourselves hoping that they would." Carol returned her gaze to the two men sitting before her.

"See the people in this town spent the better part of eight years, watching the house rise from the ground. It was a regular occurrence for people to head on over there on a Sunday afternoon to picnic in the shade of the maple trees, and admire the work that had been accomplished that week." Carole blushed prettily. "Why that's how I met my Charlie, he was there with another young lady, and I had accompanied another young man. We met when a group of young people started a game of hide and seek in the frame work of the house."

"Anyway, we all watched the procession, known as the Demonte family. Cars and trucks rolled in laden with their belongings, not to mention a gleaming black Cadillac that carried the family. They hired a host of townspeople to unpack their belongings, my girlfriend Mabel was one of the lucky ones. She spent the day making up the family beds and unpacking the linens. She used to reminisce about that house, and just how beautiful it was inside. Years later her husband Russ, built her a miniature version of the house and Mabel lived there happily for forty-five years." Carol smiled as she remembered her friend's excitement at being able to see inside of the house.

"And the next day?" Sam asked.

"Well, Son, your guess is as good as mine. No one knows what happened, the next morning old man Demonte called the staff together, paid them and dismissed them. Some folks said they could see his family sitting in that black caddy, sure, as you please. And others claimed that the family was nowhere in sight. From that day on it was as if the place was cursed. Every year it became more overgrown, and derelict. Real shame it was to watch it become nothing more than a place for youngings to gather and cause mischief." Carol smiled sadly and said, "Never seemed right to me, you know, just letting it go. It always seemed as if that house deserved a family to love it and grow old in it." Carol sat back in her seat rocking slowly, contemplating the years that had gone by since she'd last sent the house.

Dean leaned forward slightly. "You said that there was a staff. Do you know who might have been on it and if any are still located around here?"

Carolf frowned thoughtfully. "I'll be honest, I'm not sure, but Russ would know, Mabel's husband he was a forman on the construction and he helped fill postitions in the household. I could ask him, he's living over at Gentle Pines, but I have a number for him." Carol stood and said, "I'll tell you what, I'll give him a call tonight and see what he can remember. You two stop by tomorrow and I'll let you know what I found, now do you like chocolate?" Carol questioned intently.

Dean just grinned, planted a kiss on her wrinkled cheek, and with a wink he said, "We'll be here, and we both love chocolate." Dean bent down to allow Carol to pat his cheek.

"Oh, you're a rascal, Dean, I can tell. Now indulge an old lady and take a piece of this cake back home with you. I shouldn't eat anymore and if it's here I'll eat it."

Sam sat with the cake in his lap and admitted that even he hadn't been willing to let it get thrown out. He also found himself happy that it would serve as breakfast tomorrow morning, letting them off the hook to find a place to eat.

Dean glanced over at Sam and warned, "You be careful with that cake. I don't want to take the wrap off only to find all the icing stuck to it."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think I can handle holding a cake. Now, where to next?"

Dean was already heading for the highway, "I figure we should pay a little visit to the last two victims. Maybe they can shed a little light on what they saw."

Sam grinned wickidly. "I don't know how you can expect them to, when you weren't able."

Dean scowled as he gunned the engine, effectively cutting off his brothers laughter.

888

"I'm sorry who are you?" The brown haired secretary stared up at the two gentlemen before her in confusion.

Sam removed his brown hat and held it in his hands. "We're wildlife rangers, we're here to speak with Chrissie Smith and Janey Drake."

"We just have a couple of questions about the incident two weeks ago, we're concerned there may be a bear in the area," Dean said in a confident voice.

The secretary, Mrs. Hall, her nameplate read, put a hand to her chest. "Oh, my well of course the girls should be in study hall right now anyway. I'll have them brought here right away."

Sam and Dean nodded their thanks as they watched the secretary leave the office and head down the crowded hallway. Sam turned toward Dean and asked, "Do they have bears in this part of the state?"

Dean shrugged and said, "Better than saying a rabid dog, that'll set off a panic. This way people are looking for a bear that doesn't exsist."

Sam snorted at Dean's logic, watching as the secretary once again entered the office accompanied by two young teenage girls. Turning toward them he smiled slightly, Thanking Mrs. Hall he motioned for the girls to follow him away from the secretary's desk.

"Ladies, we're Rangers with park services, we wanted to speak with the two of you about what you saw up at the Mansion." Sam noted twin looks of distress on the girls' faces.

Dean said in a low comforting voice, "We know you saw something. Now, the thing is we need to know what it was, no matter how odd it may sound."

Chrissie and Janey exchanged glances for a few moments, finally Chrissie said, "I barely saw anything, my back was toward it almost the whole time. When I did finally face it, the shadows kept me from seeing much. Like I told the police, I'm not even sure what I saw."

Janey swallowed audibly and said, "It was big and black. And it's eyes were huge, it was growling and snarling and came at us from inside the house."

Sam nodded. "Big, is that like a Labrador retriever big or like a bear big?"

Janey frowned and said, "I've never seen a bear, but it was definitely bigger than a dog. I mean, even a big dog, I know this wont' make sense, but it looked almost as big as a small pony."

Sam watched as Dean nodded in confirmation, sighing he turned back toward the girls and said, "Is there anything else you can tell us about the house itself, strange sounds, cold spots, maybe a feeling like you were being watched?"

Chrissie glanced at the officers and frowned; shaking her head, she said, "No, nothing like that."

Dean stepped forward and said, "Alright then, we appreciate your time. You can go back to class." Dean watched as the girls turned to leave the office, calling out suddenly he said, "And remember, from now on out, no haunted houses alright. That's a good place to find yourselves in a mess of trouble." Dean nodded in satisfaction as the two girls nodded solemnly and headed out the door.

888

"Crap, Dean, is that what you saw?" Sam shook his head at his brother's affirming nod.

Dean merged the black car back into traffic and began looking for a place to eat dinner before they were back inside the town limits. "Yeah, at the time I hadn't thought of it, but now, hearing their accounts, I gotta say yeah."

Sam slouched down on the bench seat and watched as the scenery flashed by his window. "Damn, a Black Dog. Well, that can't be good."

Dean looked over at his brother and lifted an eyebrow. "You got that right."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean glanced over at Sam as his brother's phone began to ring, frowning, he listened to Sam's cryptic conversation.

"Let's head back to the library, that was Carol she spoke with Russ and he gave her some information." Sam closed his phone and stared out into the afternoon sun.

Dean nodded and pulled out onto the highway, glad to have something to do. Waiting was always the hard part.

888

"Come on in, fellows, let's go into the kitchen. I was just pouring myself a cup of tea; I've already pulled out the snacks, we'll have a little nosh," Carol said as she opened the front door of the library in answer to Sam's knock.

Dean grinned at Sam and followed the tiny woman back through the stacks. The brothers emerged moments later in a sunny yellow kitchen. White curtains framed the window and an old, linoleum covered, table sat in a corner. The two, world weary, hunters grinned in delight, like little boys on Christmas morning. Their eyes were unable to take in the smorgasbord of food on the table.

"Well, don't just stand there staring at it, dig in. My boys aren't so grown that I don't remember just how much a young man can eat," Carol said as she stood at the counter, fixing a cup of tea. Reaching up, the woman pulled two large tumblers from the cabinet above her, filling the glasses with milk; she placed them in front of the men.

Sam smiled at the glass of milk in front of him, and thanked Carol. He glanced at his uncharacteristically quiet, brother and had to laugh. Dean sat looking at the varied sweets before him with utter concentration, as if he was wrestling with a life or death decision. Finally settling on a piece of pecan pie, he sat back.

Dean groaned, at his first bite, glancing at Sam he saw his brother had chosen a fudge brownie and several different cookies. Dean took another bite and rolled his eyes in pleasure. "Ah, Carol, if you're trying to nab yourself another husband, I volunteer."

Carol laughed and swatted at Dean with a towel. "No thank you, once is enough and I gotta say training you up right would take more energy than I have these days." Settling in at the table, Carol picked out a couple cookies for herself and then pulled a sheet of paper from her pocket.

"Now, I spoke with Russ and he gave me four names of locals that worked at the house during the construction. All four of those people were on staff the morning the Demonte's left. I looked them up and found two of them have died. That leaves Jan Robertson, a maid and Ralph Porter who worked as a gardener on the grounds. Now Jan's living in Green Lane, that's an assisted living facility over in Bangor and Ralph actually lives here in town." Carol handed the paper over to Sam and said, "I called Ralph and let him know you'd be over tonight to speak with him. His grandson said it would be no problem."

Sam and Dean listened in admiration as the woman outlined what she'd managed to accomplish in the hours since they'd been gone. Sam smiled at the librarian and said, "Forget Dean, Carol, I'll marry you tomorrow. Any woman that can manage to do that much research in such a short time is the woman for me."

Carol picked up another cookie and laughed heartily. "Like I told your brother, I'm too damn old to want to bother with another husband. Besides I'd bet money you've got a stubborn streak."

Sam cocked his head to the side, eyes widened in surprise. "Me, nah I'm not stubborn. Dean's the stubborn one, I'm the easygoing one."

Ignoring Dean's inelegant snort, Carol laughed and leaned forward placing her finger lightly on the cleft in Sam's chin grinning she recited, "Cleft in the chin, means devil within. My momma always told me to stay away from boys with a cleft chin. Too much trouble."

Dean finished his last bite of pie and said, "See that, Sam, I even get the grandmother's. It must kill you to know I'm the one the women want."

Carol herself snorted. "Young man I don't know who you're kidding, if there's one thing you boys share it's that chin. I'm afraid I'll be turning you both down. Now fill that plate up again, we can't let this feast go to waste. You and Sam don't have to be at Ralph's place till six o'clock and nothing says dinner better than cakes and pie."

888

As darkness settled over the area, a big red pick-up pulled up at the end of the long drivel. The driver killed the lights and a moment later three guys, in various stages of drunkenness, fell out of it.

"Mark, grab the other end of the cooler. Hey, Pete man what'd you say this place is?" A young man asked as he hoisted a blue cooler out of the bed of the truck.

Cracking open another beer, Pete glanced up the darkened drive with a grin and a bit of a stagger. "It's a haunted house, Tommy, I heard about it from my little cousin. She heard that a couple of highschoolers saw something out here a couple of weeks ago." Pete took another swig of his beer and said, "I figure we're looking for a place to party, where better than a haunted house."

Tommy grinned, lifted the lid of the cooler, and tossed Mark a cold one. Grinning at his friend, he said, "Why not lighten the load eh, Marky."

Mark grinned, tilted his head back, and chugged the beer in one smooth swallow. Crushing the can and tossing it by the wayside, Mark said, "Damn straight, Tommy. Come on let's go see if Casper's home."

888

Dean climbed into the car with a last heartfelt wave for the little librarian that stood waving on the stoop. Sliding behind the wheel of the car, he momentarily considered unbuttoning the top button of his jeans. Finally, not wanting to have to take shit from Sam he let it go, straightening his posture instead, he hoped it would give him a little extra breathing room.

Sam climbed into the car and immediately closed his eyes. Groaning he said, "Oh, God I think I'm going to be sick."

Dean smiled and pulled out onto the road. "Serves you right, Sam, you were going at those bonbons's like they were carrot sticks. And make sure you give me time to pull over if you're gonna yak because you so aren't pukin' in my car."

Sam opened one eye and glanced toward his brother, noting that he seemed fine, Sam said, "I don't get it, you had twice as much as me and you seem fine."

Dean patted his stomach and said with a wink, "Iron stomach, Sammy. What goes down stays down."

"Argh, alright stop talking about it," Sam said straightening up and rolling down his window. He was hoping that the cool evening air would help quell the nauseas feeling that was rolling through him. "Okay we're supposed to meet Ralph Porter." Sam opened his notebook and glanced at the notes he'd made. "He worked as a grounds keeper, from '43-'50"

Dean nodded. "Well then, let's not keep ol' Ralph waiting."

888

"Awww, this place is wicked dude." The three men stood looking up at the massive house in awe.

"This is so gonna rock; let's see what's out back." Pete reached into his pocket and pulled out a Zippo. "We'll gather some of this shit up and start a bonfire. We're so far out of town no one'll see it."

Finally, settling on the old stone patio, the guys began setting up. Wading through the run down furniture, they managed to find three seats, making a ring outside the patio they filled the center with a hodgepodge of broken furniture and branches. Building it higher and higher, the boys continued drinking and laughing. Finally, they lit the bonfire, using old newspaper that had been lying on the front seat of the old VW bug.

As the pile flamed ever higher, the guys found themselves sitting around it happily trading bullshit.

"No, man, I'm telling you they were this big," Tommy said holding his hands out in front of his chest. "I was about swallowed up by them. That was it last time I ever fucked a girl with tits that big, I mean a man could suffocate."

Pete rolled off his chair laughing at the stone sober look on Tommy's face. Holding his side where he'd landed, he breathed heavily and said, "Oh, man you just don't know what to do with them. There's a trick to handling the big ones."

Mark stood up suddenly and wavering a bit. "Ugh, I think I'm going to puke." Putting one hand to his mouth, he stumbled toward the forest ignoring the catcalls and laughter from his friends. Moving rapidly into the underbrush, he finally leaned over and puked. Landing hard on his knees, he swiped a hand over his mouth. Finally, he stood and blearily looked about.

Mark frowned as he noted the forest closing in on him from all sides. Shaking his head in confusion, he started first forward and then moved towards the left. He knew that he'd only gone a few feet from the patio, but now he was unable to see even the glow of the fire. Casting about in the trees and brush, Mark began to panic. Calling out to his friends, he kept moving forward, now desperate to find the house.

888

Sam and Dean pulled up the drive, parking behind an old beat up station wagon. Dean glanced at Sam and was happy to note that the green tinge had left his skin and he seemed less sweaty. "Feeling better, little brother."

Sam nodded, jaw firmed and followed his brother up the steps of the old farmhouse. As Dean knocked, Sam pulled out his notebook and pen and waited for the door to open.

Dean knocked on the door, and waited. He was really hoping this paned out, because the way it looked now, he, and Sam were no closer to figuring out what the hell was going on, at that house. As the door finally swung open, Dean stared at a young teenager. The youth had shaggy brown hair and was rail thin, his grin was open and friendly though as he ushered the Winchester's through the door. "Hey, my name's Jake, grandpa's waiting for you in the living room."

Dean nodded and said, "My name's Dean and this is Sam, we just need to ask your grandfather a couple of questions."

Jake smiled and said, "There's nothing my grandpa likes more than to be asked questions, you'll be lucky to get away from him once he starts."

Dean gestured for the Jake to lead the way. As Dean walked into the tiny living room, he noted the dated but well kept furniture. Perched on a recliner, that was the central focus of the room, was a large, ruddy faced man. Looking to be in his eighties, he nonetheless gained his feet quickly and smoothly. Dean shook the gentleman's' hand and introduced both Sam and himself.

Ralph indicated that the men should take a seat, "Jake run to the basement and grab a couple of cold ones." Ralph sent his grandson a wink and settled back in his chair, content to study the two men before him.

Ralph Porter had spent the better part of sixty-five years working in the outdoors. He'd been a foreman for many of those years and had later gone into business on his own. Long and short, Ralph knew how to judge a man at a glance. And these two men, although young, gave off an air of experience not often found on the youth of today. Obvious to Ralph's eyes they were no strangers to life, and it's many hard knocks.

Dean sat back in his chair and allowed the old man to study him, he waited patiently to see if he passed muster. At the old man's firm nod, Dean knew he'd passed. Watching Jake return to the room with three beers, Dean accepted one with thanks. He found himself grinning as he watched Sam turn an alarming shade of green at the thought of drinking a beer. Noting Ralph's frown at Sam's refusal to sit and have a beer, Dean spoke up.

"Sam's not feeling so hot, we've just come from Carol Pott's house, and he overindulged at bit," Dean said with a smirk.

Ralph leaned back and laughed outright. "Oh, it's been years since I've gotten a chance to overindulge at Carol's house, but if I remember right her pecan pie could easily be called a slice of heaven." At the older man's confirming nod, Ralph laughed again. "Now, boys I'm sure you must have questions for me, otherwise you'd be out raising hell on this Friday night, instead of sitting on an old man's couch."

Sam looked over at Jake for a moment, and threw a questioning glance towards Ralph. He began cautiously, "We've got some questions about Howard Demonte and his house."

Ralph's face suddenly clouded over and he said in a low growl, "Jake, you go on up to your room, I need to speak with these fellows in private." When it looked as if Jake was going to argue, Ralph simply looked him straight in the eye and said firmly, "Now."

Jake looked at the seriousness in his grandfather's eyes and nodded. "All right Pap, I'm going up but remember to lock up after they leave." The young boy waited for his grandfather's nod before he willingly left the room.

"He's a good kid; all I've got left of his mother, God rest her soul. Getting older now though and I'm afraid before long he's going to be taking care of me, more than I take care of him." Ralph drew a deep breath and swigged his beer. "I always knew someone would get around to asking me about that bastard Demonte, I just figured he would've still been alive when they did."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances; Sam nodded at his brother and noticed that Dean once again relaxed back into the couch. Sam leaned forward and asked, "We need to know everything. Anything you can tell us about the house and the family."

Ralph snorted in disgust. "Son, I'd be dead before I could tell it all to you. Let's just stick with the basics. I started out this life as the son of a coal miner, destined for nothing more than the mines myself. I worked at one of the Bastard's mines from the time I was fifteen until I was twenty-one. The Bastard, that was his nickname if you want an idea of his character. There wasn't a man that came across Demonte that didn't call him that."

"Now, as I said, I worked in the mine until just after my twenty-first birthday. It was then that my father and older brother were killed in a cave-in that resulted in twelve other deaths. We all knew the reason for the cave in was shoddy footings. The old Bastard had known that this time he was likely to get the blame for the deaths and he was desperate to avoid the bad exposure. So in order to avoid talk he bought off the families of the dead." Ralph held the bottle in his hands turning it over repeatedly.

"I wasn't willing to take his money, I was on my own, my Mom had died years before so instead of taking the payoff, I told him I wanted out of the mines. At the time, he said he was impressed with my gumption, but to be honest I think the only thing that kept him from having my dead body dumped in some dark corner of that mine was that he needed someone, and I was standing in front of him. So he offered me a job, working here on the house's maintenance crew and I accepted. I mean, who wouldn't after the dark of the mines; the hot summer sun beating down on my back was like heaven."

"And to this day I still don't know if I should curse the fates, or thank the gods that I did. If I hadn't I would have spent a short and painful life digging in the dark. Instead, I spent the last sixty-four years of my life, above ground doing something that I love." Ralph looked up at Dean and Sam his gaze piercing in it's intensity. "And all I had to do was ignore the smell."

888

"Yo, Mark man just how long does it take you to puke, Dude?" Pete called out to the surrounding woods. Laughing weakly at his own lame joke, Pete stood and nudged Tommy in the side. "Wake up Tom, Mark hasn't come back yet."

Tommy turned onto his side blearily and opened one eye. "Man, he probably passed out. He'll wake up once some raccoon's made him his bitch." Tommy rolled back over onto his side and was quickly snoring once again.

Pete walked toward the edge of the patio, noticing that the fire was finally dying down. Deciding that it wasn't worth adding more to it, he stepped in the direction that Mark had taken. Speaking aloud, Pete said, "I'm going to find him Tommy, I'll be right back."

Pete began following the path, trying to get his beer soaked brain to pay attention. Finally, not seeing any sign of Mark, Pete turned around on the to head back to the house. That's when he noticed that he could no longer see the glow of the fire or the house's rooftop. Turning in a complete circle, Pete began cursing his luck. It was only as he began hearing a low rustling in the brush behind him that he really began to panic. Turning slowly and carefully, Pete squinted in the darkness trying to see what was making the sound.

Unconscious to the world Tommy simply wiggled closer to the fire as a scream broke through the night air. He was so far gone; that he never noticed the low sound of growling that filled the air.


	6. Chapter 6

"What smell?" Dean asked, even though he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

Ralph stared unseeingly at the bottle in his hand, he found himself transported once more back in time. "When I was a kid an explosion rocked a tunnel, a pocket of methane ignited, five guys burned to death. Afterwards, I was on the retrieval team; I'll never forget the smell of burning flesh." Ralph focused on the boys once more, and was alarmed at how pale they both looked.

Nodding, he said, "I take it you both know the smell I mean. Well, Demonte had a foreman who worked for him, man by the name of McGregor. He was an evil son of a bitch just like Demonte, only without the polished veneer. He called himself a foreman but in reality, he was Demonte's right hand man. He was the one that made sure his bosses' hands never got dirty. Anyway, I'd been working the job for about three months, when I got a call from my boss. He asked if I'd run over to the house to clean up some tools we'd been using. It was going to rain and he didn't want to risk them rusting. I told him it was no problem and jumped in the old truck." Ralph paused for a moment and wiped a shaking hand over his face.

"When I got there, I put the tools away and was getting back in the truck, when I smelled something." Ralph snorted in derision. "Who am I kidding; I knew what I smelled, it was just so unexpected. I followed the scent, stomach clenching the whole way, to a clearing at the back of the property. By this time, I heard the unmistakable noise of a bulldozer. It was McGregor, he was using the dozer to put out a fire, and thick, black smoke hung over the machine as he smothered the flames. The smell was nearly unbearable. For the air to reek that bad, I can only assume it wasn't just one body."

Dean noted that the old man was trembling now, sharing a look of concern with Sam, he leaned forward and put a steadying hand on his arm. "It's important that we hear this, but you can take a minute if you need."

Ralph studied the young man for a moment and nodded. "I've been waiting a long time to say this out loud, I can finish."

Dean nodded and waited for Ralph to drink the last dregs of his beer.

"McGregor was a big man. Probably taller than you Sam and definitely heavier. Imposing and rough, he put everyone on edge. Well, when he slipped down from that machine and ambled over to me, I swear my life flashed before my eyes, each and every pathetic year. McGregor knew what he was doing and he knew that I understood what he was doing. As he stood looming over me, he simply said, 'You've been doing a good job here, Porter. I think it's about time you were promoted.' Here he leaned in good and tight. He was so close I could smell his breath, reeking of gin and onions, he said, 'That is, if you're a good company man? You are, right Porter, a good company man?' Well, what was I going to say? I'd just caught the man burning corpses." Ralph paused yet again, and looked at the younger men as if waiting for censure.

Sam simply said, "You did what you had to do to survive, you did what most men would have done."

Ralph nodded and said, "Yup, I did what I did and I'll face judgment for it at the pearly gates. Anyway, I agreed that I was a good company man, and by the next day, I was promoted. Given a salary increase, doing work I loved, I found that I was able to ignore that night as if it had never happened." Here Ralph grimaced and again glanced at the men before him. "But it did happen. And I know it happened several times, at least, over the course of the eight years I worked there. The way I figure it, McGregor was using the property to dispose of anyone that got in Demonte's way. I'll tell you boys, lots of men, got in that Bastard's way."

Dean sat back, wiping a hand across his face. He shared a brief glance with Sam before saying, "And the night they moved in? What happened that night?"

"Don't know, I was there helping them move in and returned the next morning. Demonte gathered us together on the drive and told us we'd no longer be needed. Handed out fistfuls of cash to everyone, got into his big old caddy, and drove off." Ralph sat back and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly he visibly relaxed.

Sam nodded and stood. "Thanks, Ralph."

Dean stood also, and held out his hand to the older man. "For what it's worth we understand why you kept quiet."

Ralph stood and seized Dean's hand, smiling sadly, he looked into Dean's eyes and said, "You understand, but you would never have made a deal like that would you? You would have made sure that justice was done no matter the consequences. I admire that." Ralph reached out and shook Sam's hand. "You boys take care, and be careful up at the old place. Ever since that night it's never been the same."

Both boys nodded and Dean led the way toward the front door. At the last moment, Sam turned and asked, "What about the wife and kids were they in the car?"

Ralph's face fell and he shook his head. "I never saw them again, not after I helped them move in. McGregor never resurfaced either, even though I know he was there that night. Guess we'll never really know what happened that night."

Sam smiled grimly. "Oh, we'll figure it out. We always do." Sam followed Dean out into the night, breathing the cool air. Pounding a hand on Dean's back as they walked down the sidewalk, Sam said, "So, we've got an unknown number of dead bodies burned on the site. Not too mention a foreman, wife and three children unaccounted for."

Dean nodded and walked toward the car. "All the more reason to head over to the house and see if we can't narrow down the playing field."

888

"What the fuck?" Dean said as he hit the Impala's breaks. There shining in his headlights was a jacked-up red pick up.

"You know what this means, someones up there. God knows what's happened to them," Sam said as he unfolded his tall frame from the front seat. Moving swiftly around to the trunk, he accepted the shotgun and spare ammo that Dean handed him.

Slamming the trunk shut, both men moved out in a hurry. Their long strides eating up the distance quickly and easily. Again, the bright moon meant they didn't need to worry about flashlights.

"You know, I'm thinking this haunting has nothing to do with the bodies that were burned. After all, no one ever reported any sort of paranormal activity as the building was being built. No cold spots, weird noises, accidents nothing, the construction was smooth and uneventful. I think whatever we're dealing with must have something to do with the foreman and Demonte's family."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, and that would explain the Black Dog, they often haunt graveyards. Maybe our big guy figures that patch of land is close enough."

Sam nodded excitedly. "Yeah, maybe he's latched onto the place and is causing the disappearances." As soon as the words left his mouth, Sam contradicted himself "No, you know I don't buy that. As often as Black Dogs are mentioned in legends, they're never blamed for disappearances. Usually, it's a matter of killing someone on the spot, either by flame, bolts of electricity or else they just drop dead."

"Just because Fido's latched onto the place doesn't mean there isn't something else lurking around. I mean it's pretty weird all the traffic this place sees and only eight people have disappeared." As they neared the house, Dean went on alert.

The two hunters moved stealthily toward the house, noting all the newly discarded beer cans that littered the ground. Following the trail, they both noted the smell of wood smoke at the same time.

Sam tapped a finger to his nose, indicating the smell and Dean nodded in confirmation. Sam watched their backs as Dean took the lead. Following his brother around the building, he nearly growled at the sight of a large bonfire in the middle of the stone patio. Sam continued covering Dean as his brother moved forward towards the flames. It was then he noticed a figure lying on the pavement close to the fire.

Dean knelt beside the young man lying on the paving stones. Reaching out a hand, he felt the young man's pulse. Nodding to Sam, he shook the unconscious figure's shoulder roughly.

Tommy swatted ineffectually at the hand that gripped his shoulder. "Man get off, Mom. Come on just five more minutes."

Dean finally snorted with impatience and slapped the young man sharply up the back of the head. "Get your ass up, now. I ain't your mother and you sure as hell aren't tucked into bed."

Tommy cried out in pain and stumbled to his feet. "Aww, what the fuck man, why'd you hit me?"

Dean's patience while never great was rapidly dwindling. Jaw clenced, he asked, "What's your name kid and how many others are here?"

Tommy rubbed the back of his head and ignored the glare directed his way. "Why'd you hit me. That really hurt." Tommy turned slightly and noticed another stranger a few feet away holding a shotgun at the ready. Rearing back, into the older man, Tommy shouted in panic, "Who are you guys and what'd you do to Mark and Pete."

Dean shoved the kid off him, uncaring that he hit the ground once again. "So, we got two more morons roaming the place. Just great, why don't you get this one on his way down the road and I'll see if I can't locate the other two."

Sam was about to protest when the kid on the ground, suddenly began heaving. He quickly stepped back from him unwilling to loose a good pair of boots. After the kid managed to stop heaving and kneel wearily on the ground, Sam had to admit to himself that Dean was right. No way was he in any condition to protect himself, and to be honest he would only be placing the brothers in more danger.

Sam grabbed the kid's arm and said, "I'll get him down the drive a bit and be right back. Keep your cell on and listen for me. I'm going to yell this place down if I can't find you when I get back here."

Dean turned a steady gaze on his brother and said, "Take care, Sam, we've got no idea what's out there. I'm going to run through the house first and then I'll start out here."

Sam nodded and quickly began dragging the young man toward the driveway. He was careful to keep his eyes peeled for any sign of danger. Refusing to give into the urge to watch his brother disappear into the house, it took Sam only a moment to realize just how futile his wish for speed was. The boy could barely make his feet obey him, and the sliding, stumbling, shuffle he was doing only made things worse. Finally, not able to take the slow speed any longer, Sam bent his knees and hiked the smaller kid up and over his shoulder. Ignoring the guy's grunt, Sam sent a prayer heavenward that he didn't end up with puke down his back.

Once Sam had cleared the house and was well down the drive he picked up speed, figuring that he was in the clear. Half tempted to drop the kid on the drive and return to the house, Sam kept going nonetheless. Finally, as the truck came into view, his glance moved between the truck bed and the cab. He finally laid his burden in the bed of the truck figuring that at least that way; the kid wouldn't spend tomorrow cleaning puke off the upholstery.

Sam flexed his shoulders, working the kinks out of his back. Moving toward the Impala, he opened the passenger door, and began feeling under the seat. He knew what he was looking for was under there somewhere. As his fingers closed around an aluminum canister, Sam said a prayer of thanks. He tucked it into his coat pocket and shut the car door. Sam then took off up the drive at a dead run.

888

Dean entered the house, by the French doors once again. Using his flashlight, he scanned the room looking for any sign that the two missing men had come this way. Cautiously making his way toward the hall he'd used last night, Dean approached the hole that Sam had created. Lying down, he shimmied toward the edge. Shining his light into the basement, he noted that everything looked the same as it had the night before. Calling out, he waited a moment for a response.

At last, he crawled backwards away from the hole and stood up slowly. Shining his flashlight at the door leading to the kitchen, he opened it carefully and scanned the room before him. Again, he noticed nothing out of place. Dean was beginning to wonder if this was all a wild goose chase, maybe Mark and Pete had left their buddy there as some kind of prank or maybe they'd wondered into the woods and Dean was wasting time searching the house.

It was then that all the hair on the back of his neck began standing up. Turning slowly he scanned the area. The large windows allowed streams of light to pore through, making his flashlight unnecessary. Eyes moving incessantly Dean kept scanning the room, looking for the source of his unease. Readying his shotgun, he heard the noise before he could see it. Ducking into a roll, he threw himself across the room, feeling something pass over his back. Lying for a moment, he grunted as something large landed practically on top him.

Dean looked up in surprise at the dog that was standing over top of him. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, the size of a young calf, it's coat was shaggy and black as coal. It had large saucer like eyes, and a long shaggy tail. The animal stood stock-still legs slightly bent, teeth bared in a snarl, waiting as if to pounce. Dean had only a moment to wish he hadn't sent Sammy off with the drunk before another noise caught his attention.


	7. Chapter 7

As Sam rounded the side of the house, he paused for a moment. Concentrating, he thought he heard something. Moving toward the bonfire, and facing the forest, Sam waited listening intently. This time the scream he heard was loud and clear, hesitating only a moment to look back at the house, he careened down the wooded path.

Raising his shotgun, Sam pushed through the trees and brush. Sighting a young man in his early twenties on his knees screaming in terror, Sam fired on instinct. The shot sailed past the guy and hit its intended target. Drawing a deep breath as the filmy cloud dissipated, Sam dropped to his knees next to the young man.

"Hey, are you Mark or Pete?" The guys eyes met Sam's for an instant before rolling up in his head. Sam reached out and grabbed the unconscious kid before he could hit the ground. Cursing in frustration, Sam stood and once again found himself trekking back toward the driveway with a body slung over his shoulder.

As quick as possible Sam made it back to the pick up, and dumped the guy next to his buddy. Fighting down a wave of panic, Sam began running toward the house once again. Pulling out his cell, he quickly called Dean.

888

Dean lay on his back, staring up at the dog above him. The noise he heard was the unmistakable sound of a door being flung open. Dean craned his neck but was unable to see much more than the creature. What he did notice, was the dog's focus was completely captured by something just out of Dean's eyesight.

Watching as the dog's muscles suddenly tightened and then released, Dean watched in awe as the creature lunged. Snarling and snapping, it leaped away from him. Rolling, Dean was in time to see it knock a figure to the ground. Grabbing his gun, he quickly sighted on the dog and the spirit it fought. While the dog, seemed somewhat solid, the spirit it fought kept blinking in and out of existence.

Dean waited for his chance with his gun raised, ready to fire. Finally, the two figures separated. Just before he took the shot, he saw that the spirit was a man. Tall and substantial the figure turned toward Dean and got a face full of shot for his time. As the spirit dissipated, Dean was astounded to see the black dog return to his side. The dog sat next to him, looking like nothing more than the world's biggest Labrador retriever.

Reaching out with a slightly shaky hand Dean moved to touch the animal. It was only as his hand hovered within an inch of the mighty dog's head that he pulled back. Shaking his head, he decided he didn't want to know. The animal had saved his life, and that was enough for now.

Heading across the room, Dean decided a search was in order. He needed to go through the house as quickly as possible. While moving through rooms with an economy of motion, he glanced now and again at the dog by his side. Always one step ahead, the black dog seemed content to lead the way. Hearing his cell phone ringing, he answered it up and without pause said, "Dude, I've got something to tell you."

888

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as his big brother answered the phone on the first ring. Without pause, he said, "Dude, I've got something to tell you." As he listened to his brother voice those exact same words, Sam slid to a stop. Sam's "What" was echoed by Dean. Finally, a smile in his voice Sam said, "We so have to start hanging out with other people."

"Dude, I hang out with other people. You're the recluse in the family," Dean snarked as he opened yet another, in a seemingly endless number of doors.

Sam laughed and headed back toward the woods, shotgun in hand. Once more, he listened intently trying to pinpoint the last missing kid. "Yeah, well let's be honest, Dean, speaking's not exactly what you do with the people you meet. Now listen, I found another kid, he's okay and I got him back to the truck. Also, I'm pretty sure we're dealing with McGregor."

Dean moved through another bathroom, noting the spacious bathtub as he did. Glancing with longing at the tub, he said, "Yeah, I know that's what I wanted to tell you. And what do you mean I don't talk, I talk before and I talk after. Well after, it's more of a goodbye kind of thing but still, that's more than you. Man, Sammy you have to check out the bathrooms in this place. We've had smaller apartments."

Sam paused, grinning he asked, "That why your calling me Dean, you need a bubble bath?"

"No, you smartass. I wanted to tell you I've found the dog and it saved me from McGregor." Dean quickly reached out for yet another doorknob, entering the room, he noted he was in a child's bedroom.

Sam kept moving through the woods, half his concentration on Dean and the other half searching the forest for any signs of the last kid. "It saved you; hmm maybe it is a spirit then. I mean there's a lot of British folklore that suggests people coming back as Black dogs to either haunt an area or even to act as protectors. So I guess the big question is who's the spirit?"

"Got me, Geek boy, that's your job. I'm just the man with the gun. Now, I'll meet you in a half-hour at the bonfire. A half-hour, Sammy, be there." Dean hung up the phone, placed it in his pocket. Heading for the next door, he was surprised when the black dog moved in front of it.

The dog stood still and silent, its black eyes glowing with the reflection of Dean's flashlight. Dean approached the door once more and the creature growled menacingly. Hands up in air, Dean said softly, "I just want to see what's in there."

Once again, the dog growled, tensing as Dean neared it; the monstrous dog looked ready to leap. Finally, convinced that short of shooting the dog, he wasn't going to get in that room, Dean took note of his position and decided to come back in the daylight. Moving on he wasn't surprised when the dog fell into line next to him. "You know I should trade Sammy in for you. You're a lot quieter, and you smell better," Dean quipped to the silent shadow loping at his side. "I bet you'd be a real chick magnet too, I mean except for being dead and all." Checking his watch Dean continued his search.

888

Sam moved through the forest, carefully following an overgrown path. Checking periodically to make sure he had his bearings, he listened intently. He didn't much like the idea of calling out, but he was quickly running out of options. Moving once again, Sam suddenly stumbled, catching himself at the last minute. He studied the ground, searching for what had caused him to stumble. The ground had become spongy and soft, Sam's boots sank in, and the undergrowth abounded. The fertile ground held only saplings, none of the large trees that the rest of the area supported. Using his flashlight, Sam noticed the clearing seemed to be almost a perfect square, turning he noted the direction of the house.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly dialed his brother. Instead of Dean's familiar voice, Sam heard only dead silence. Glancing at the display, he noted that he was getting no signal. Crap, he thought. Kneeling down, Sam dug through the fertile dirt, already knowing what he would find. Running the soil through his hands, it took only moments for Sam to find it. Picking it up, he held the tiny piece of bone in his hand and sighed wearily.

Slowly he gained his feet, knowing that the mass grave he'd found was only going to complicate this job. Turning, Sam didn't look up in time to see the massive tree branch that was flung his way. Taking the hit in the forehead, he hit the ground, losing his flashlight in the process. Scrambling to his feet, Sam tightened his grip on the shotgun, and wiped away the blood that was flowing down his forehead.

Turning in the dark, trying to get his bearings he realized that he could no longer see the glow in the sky caused by the bonfire. Backing out of the clearing, he once again made his way through the woods. Hoping that he was judging the position of the moon correctly, he chose a path and stuck to it.

As Sam ran, he could hear something following him through the underbrush. Glancing back, he could see nothing in the dark; however, he could hear it gaining on him. Slowing slightly, he swung the shotgun behind him and quickly squeezed off a shot, hoping that the spray of rock salt would hit something. A second blow landed across his shoulder knocking him to the ground. Winded and trying to gain his feet, Sam felt something brush past his face. He watched, as a black shadow seemed to emerge from the forest. The shadow took the shape of a massive dog, without hesitation if flung itself against the white mist that was quickly taking shape. Watching as the dog and man struggled, Sam rose to his feet and continued down the path.

888

Dean stepped out into the cool night air and watched the flames from the bonfire dance and whorl in the night. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time and dialed Sam. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't getting a dial tone. Hanging up, he checked the display only to find that he had no signal.

Stowing the phone in a pocket, Dean turned in surprise to find the dog had finally left his side. Dean hoped this was a sign that McGregor was nowhere near. Not that he needed the dog to come to his rescue, but hey who was he to turn away help. Dean found himself impatiently waiting another ten minutes before he resolutely headed into the forest, in search of his baby brother. After all, wasn't it just yesterday that he'd told Sam he would always follow him.

888

Sam was lost, he was pretty sure that it wasn't his fault but that really didn't change the fact that he was unable to find the house. He'd tried picking a spot in the sky and walking towards it and that had gotten him nowhere. He knew from experience that a right-handed man normally unconsciously chose to go right, so he made a conscience decision to go left. Nope, still no house.

Glancing at his watch he noted that he had another three hours before he could hope for the sun, and he was already an hour late to meet Dean. Pulling out his cell again, he felt the urge to chuck the useless thing into a stand of trees, at the constant no signal readout.

Taking a deep breath, Sam once again studied his surroundings, other than a slight wind that had picked up he could neither see nor hear anything that would lead him back to the house. Cocking his head, he noted a new sound that hadn't been there moments before. Moving left toward a clump of scrub, Sam found himself tripping over something large.

Stumbling he caught himself just before he landed on top of a young man; the man was trembling, and seemed to be mumbling something. Bending down Sam placed his hand on the guy's shoulder, shaking him gently he said, "Hey buddy, its okay. Come on, sit up."

Pete couldn't stop shaking, his beer induced buzz had been scared out of him hours ago, and now it seemed as if he was trapped in some kind freaky LSD nightmare. Only Pete hadn't done LSD, which kinda meant that all of this was real. He could feel something shaking his shoulder, but he resolutely kept his eyes closed. He knew if he opened them, he'd be faced with the big guy that could walk right through things. Pete didn't want to dwell on how the guy did it he just wanted to pretend that he didn't exist. So he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and ignored the incessant shaking.

Sam knew the guy was awake, he could tell because his eyes kept scrunching up tighter and tighter. Gathering his rapidly dwindling patience, Sam finally grabbed his shoulders and lifted him off the ground. Shaking the kid, Sam said, "I know you're awake, I'm here to get you out of this place, but you have to open your eyes."

Pete listened to the words feeling his first ray of hope since this nightmare had begun. Opening one eye slightly, he noted a young, shaggy haired man staring intently at him. Easing his eyes open the rest of the way, Pete breathed a sigh of relief.

Sam watched as the kid's eyes finally opened wide. Helping him to stand, he kept a hand on the guy's arm steadying him for a moment. "I'm going to let go alright." Sam waited for a nod before releasing him and stepping back. The kid reeked of vomit, sweat, and booze. "What's your name?"

"Pete, I was here with a couple of buddies and I got lost, then that..." here Pete paused not sure of what he should say.

"Ghost, yeah I came across him too. Listen we need to get out of here, your friends are fine but we need to find our way back to the house." Sam turned from Pete and once again began moving.

Pete trotted alongside the tall stranger. "What's your name? And what are you doing here?"

Sam glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Name's Sam, and I was here with my brother. He's going to be looking for us, so we've got to find a way out."

As Sam looked over his shoulder to speak to Pete, he noticed a shape taking form. Reaching back and throwing the guy to the ground, Sam dropped and rolled barely missing the stick that passed over his head. Fumbling for his shotgun, he aimed and fired. Catching McGregor full in the chest, the spirit once again dissipated.

Sam lay on the ground for a moment catching his breath, it was as he lay that he felt the edges of the canister poking into his ribs. Grinning, Sam pulled the can from his pocket, jumping to his feet he quickly helped Pete up. "It's going to be okay Pete, Dean'll find us soon enough."

888

Dean continued searching the forest for any sign of his brother. He'd been following Sam's trail when it up and seemed to disappear. Finally, in desperation Dean had begun calling for Sam, over and over again, until his voice became hoarse. Fear beginning to take its toll, Dean could no longer pretend that Sam was just around the next bend.

The only thing stopping him from returning to the house for another search was a nagging feeling that Sam was out here somewhere. He didn't know if it was instinct, or wishful thinking but he found himself unable to leave the forest. The last place he knew his brother had been.

The only positive thing about this entire trek was that he'd yet to come across McGregor. The dog had popped up a couple of times, but seemed content to simply follow Dean.

At last, he found himself at a total and complete loss. Standing in one place, he raised his hands once again, to cup his mouth and he yelled. Sam's name echoed in the valley, silence was Dean's only answer. Again, Dean yelled his worn out voice cracking as it had done during his teenage years. Again, he heard no answer. Squaring his shoulders, Dean once moved forward. He'd promised his brother that he would follow him anywhere and Dean had no intention of breaking his promise.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean knew he was losing it. Yet, there was nothing he could do to stop the despair that threatened. It had been nearly three hours since he'd last spoken to Sam. He just didn't get it, they were in somebody's back yard for Christ's sake. He couldn't understand why he was unable to find his brother.

The setting moon had forced him to use a flashlight again. Over and over again, he scanned the forest before him searching desperately for any sign of Sam. At last, he returned to the house and searched the ground surrounding the now dying fire. He could easily see the track that Sam had taken. Determined, Dean squared his shoulders and followed the path created by his brother. The path of trampled brush and broken branches continued for about an 1/8 of a mile before the trail ended. One moment he could clearly make out his brother's distinctive size fourteen boot tread and then the footprints were just gone. It seemed as if something had picked up Sam and flew off with him.

Unable to help himself Dean actually glanced up unsure of what he hoped to see. He snorted at his own stupidity, as if, his little brother would be sitting in a tree just waiting for Dean to stumble across him. That wasn't the Winchester way, there problems were never that easily solved.

Dean rested his hands on his knees for a moment as he fought back a wave of tiredness, straightening, he looked down once more to where the trail ended. Though, he knew there was little point, he couldn't help but pull out his cell phone once more. A glance at the display showed he was still out of range of a signal. Slamming it shut with a curse, he stuffed the worthless object back into his pocket.

A loud siren suddenly pierced the night air causing Dean to jump a about a mile. As his heartbeat settled down a bark of laughter escaped him. Sure that the sound came from in front of him, Dean began racing through the woods. As another blast ripped through the night he ran even faster, heedless of the branches that scraped his exposed skin and pulled at his clothes. He couldn't suppress the grin on his face, as the sound came a third time.

Dean knew, without a doubt, Sam was the one causing the noise. He recognized it because he'd been the one to purchase the cylindrical shaped air horn just weeks before. The brothers had been between hunts and the stretch of blacktop they were using had to be the world's most boring interstate. Dean, desperate to stay awake, and on the tail end of a caffeine high had stopped at a gas station while Sam slept, undisturbed in the front seat of the Impala. Dean had wandered the aisles of the attached mini-mart in search of something to keep him awake.

As he moved toward the counter, arms laden with soda, some chocolate, and even a couple of apples for Sam, he noticed the air horn. With an evil grin, he had snagged the horn off the shelf and laid it down with the rest of his purchases. The tired looking woman who checked him out had taken one look at the horn and then glanced out the window to where Sam slept on.

A grin softened her hard face as she said, "You know, he'll most likely kill you for this."

Dean had simply tipped her a nod and said, "He sure as hell can try."

He had made his way carefully toward the car with his finger on the trigger. That's as far as he'd gotten when he took a good long look at his little brother. The cramped way he was pressed against the car door, the shadows beneath his eyes, even his face seemed harder to Dean, as if the last few weeks of living had taken their toll.

Unable to go through with the prank he'd carefully tucked the can back into the bag he held and made his way around the car. Sliding onto the seat, he noted the chill in the air. As he pulled the big black car back out onto the highway, he adjusted the heater and pointed the vents toward Sam. Not willing to wake him, Dean had bypassed the next sixty miles of hotels.

Over a week passed before he'd seen the canister again. Sam had found it rolling around underneath his seat. Dean had shrugged, a wicked grin on his face, as Sam threatened ten kinds of hell if Dean ever used it on him. Now the sound of that horn was a godsend, as he ran, he made a vow to keep one in the weapons bag at all times.

888

Sam squeezed the trigger once more and prayed. He nodded reassuringly to the young man that stood trembling next to him. He prayed Dean was able to hear the signal. Firing the canister for a third time, he became alarmed at the sound of something large heading their way. He had only one more shot left in the shotgun. Swinging the weapon up, he took aim at the noise and gestured for Pete to stand behind him.

Sam was a hairsbreadth from firing when he recognized a hoarse voice shouting his name. He lowered the gun and began moving toward the racket his brother was making. Dean burst out of a clump of brush, just as Sam nearly took a header into a tangle of underbrush. At the last minute, though two strong hands grabbed him by the jacket and hauled him upright once more.

Dean kept his hands on Sam's jacket and looked long and hard at him. Piercing green eyes took in every aspect of Sam's appearance, noting the dirt and scratches but unable to find anything seriously wrong. Finally, certain his baby brother was okay, he glared at Sam and snarled, "Half-an-hour, Sam, I said a half-an-hour not all freakin' night." Dean took a steadying breath and pounded Sam on the chest. Stepping back a pace, he grinned at Sam's wince.

Sam rubbed his chest and turned to find Pete a few feet behind them. "Dean, this is Pete, the last of the booze hounds. If it's alright with you, I'd like to get out of here."

Dean nodded his agreement and turned back the way he'd come. It was then he realized the roofline of the house and the dying glow of the fire were both gone. "Ah, Sam, do you see the house?"

Sam rolled his eyes in frustration. "What do you think? Of course I can't see the frickin' house. If I could, I would have met you on time."

Dean ignored his brother's irritated answer and began following the path he'd made in his haste to find Sam. Lucky, for them he had cut a pretty wide swath through the woods making it easy to follow. Grumbling in irritation, he followed his trail slapping branches and trailing vines out of his way as he went.

Sam followed, keeping an eye peeled for McGregor. He wasn't sure, but, he thought the sky was beginning to lighten. Moments later, he nearly fell over Dean as his brother stopped dead in his tracks. "What's up?" he asked, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of the pissed off foreman.

Dean scratched idly at the dried blood on his cheek. "Trail ends. It just stops." Blowing out a frustrated breath, he closed his eyes for a moment in weariness. Slowly he opened them, and found that he was actually able to see better. Glancing at the sky, he noted just how much lighter it looked since he'd found Sam. A look at his watch confirmed the sun was beginning to rise. "Let's just wait a few minutes, the sun's coming up, we'll be able to find our way then." Turning toward Sam, he raised a questioning brow at Pete.

Sam shook his head. "I found the other one also, I dumped him in the back of the pick-up. God knows if they're even still there. I was searching the woods when I came across Pete here. Oh, by the way, I met Lassie, she's a real gem. She managed to fight off McGregor for me."

With a grin, Dean rocked back and forth on his heels. "That dog's too cool to be Lassie, she's more like Rin-Tin-Tin you know. We'll have to bring back a couple biscuits for her, cause she saved my ass too."

Sam's grin faded as he said, "It's her right, the Bastard's wife? I mean it's pretty common for a black dog to be the spirit of someone that was killed. Lot's of folklore suggest they act as protectors."

Dean nodded. "Near as I can figure, I mean it makes sense you know. Who else would be protecting people in this place? The kids were too young, plus there's a room in the house she won't let me get in." Dean's expression made it clear just what they would find in that room.

Sam frowned thoughtfully and looked up. Nodding at Dean, a wide grin suddenly split his face. There in front of them, in the light of the sun, was a clear path running in a straight shot toward the roofline of the Mansion.

Dean snorted and said, "Great a haunted wood, what exactly are we supposed to do about that." He continued to grumble as he followed his own back trail toward the house.

888

Dean wearily threw the shotgun into the trunk of the car and shut it. Turning toward the red pickup that was parked in front of his car, he snorted. After searching one of the still unconscious guys for a set of keys, Pete had jumped behind the wheel and was obviously anxious to be on his way. Dean made a beeline for the driver's side door of the Impala as Sam lowered the chain for the drive. He climbed behind the wheel of the car and quickly backed the big black Chevy out of the drive. Dean waited as the pick-up backed out next. The moment it was clear of Dean's car, the red pickup took off in a squeal of rubber. Sam, replaced the chain before loping toward the black car.

As Sam slid in next to him, Dean said, "Well there's a guy that'll never trespass again. I don't know how the hell we're gonna stop anyone else from going up there."

Sam shrugged as he leaned his head against the window staring out into the early morning light. "Got me, I mean I came across the grave, it's huge. There's no way we'd ever be able salt and burn the whole thing. Then there's the fact that we can't find McGregor's body and the wife is apparently still running around."

"Alright, well let's get some sleep. Then food, then we'll figure out how we're going to handle this." Dean turned the car toward the motel, already anticipating a hot shower.

As Sam and Dean entered the motel, Dean grabbed a change of clean clothes and headed for the bathroom. Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder "Let me take a look at those cuts. Some of them look pretty deep." Sam indicated the cuts and scratches that adorned Dean's face, neck, and arms.

"I'm fine, they'll clean up in the shower," Dean answered automatically. With a sigh he took in the determined look on his brother's face. Knowing that he'd get no rest until he let his baby brother play nursemaid, Dean said, "Fine, just let me get a shower and then you can pull out the band-aids."

Sam nodded and moved to pull out the first-aid kit. As he pulled out the antibiotic cream and the butterfly bandages, he had to shake his head at his brother's stubborn mindset. Sam knew his big brother cared less than nothing for himself. Dean's carelessness of his own injuries made Sam even more determined to watch out for him. Besides, Sam thought, his big brother would be more than happy to have Sam clean up the cuts once he realized just what a mess he was. Although, vain was too strong of a word to describe Dean, Sam knew that his big brother wouldn't want anything to mar his looks.

888

Dean entered the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the closed toilet lid. Turning on the shower, he undressed quickly. Taking a quick glance in the mirror to see what had his brother's panties in a twist. Dean was alarmed at the number of cuts and scratches on his face and neck. Crap, he thought, I mean chicks dig scars but this was a bit much. Stepping under the hot spray, he was more than happy to allow Sam to clean and apply antibiotic to the worst of the scratches.

Dean emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later to find Sam laid out on his bed, snoring softly. He moved quietly toward the small round table, taking a seat, he glanced at the assorted supplies that were laid out already.

"Stop, I'll do it. Some of those cuts are pretty deep, I figured I'd use the butterfly's on them," Sam said as he sat up, rubbing a weary hand across his face.

"I was going to let you sleep, princess. I can take care of myself." Dean leaned back in the chair, exhaustion taking it's toll.

Sam waved a hand at his brother and settled into the chair across from him. "Nah, its fine. I can't sleep this way anyway, I'm itchy from wading through that forest all night. I'm going to get a shower, before bed."

Sam reached out and grasped Dean's head in his hand, turning his head toward the light he winced at the numerous cuts and scratches. "Crap, Dean, what'd you do to yourself? It looks like you took a face full of glass."

"Nah, I just caught a couple of branches while I was looking for you." Dean winced as Sam applied peroxide to the worst of the cuts, one that went from Dean's earlobe to almost the corner of his mouth.

Sam shook his head and scolded, "You've gotta be more careful, you could have lost an eye or something." Sam carefully applied the antibiotic and placed a small row of clear stitches along his brother's jaw.

Dean simply shrugged and said, "I had to find you."

Sam sighed, he knew there was no point in arguing with Dean, yet again. His brother felt it was his responsibility to watch out for Sam above all else. Hell, to be honest, Dean felt it was his responsibility to look out for everyone before himself. So Sam once again set out to patch his brother up, if Dean wouldn't care for himself than the least Sam could do was take care for him.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean pulled out onto the main road "Where to Sam, I'm starving."

Sam nodded and quickly ran down a set of directions. "I was thinking we'll hit the grocery store, maybe grab something from the bakery. Also, we can get a couple things for the motel room, the fridge actually seems to work."

"Anything to avoid the restaurants around here. After we grab a bite, I wanna head over to the house. I want a look in that room before the sun sets." Dean pulled into a parking lot, wincing at the sight of shopping carts scattered throughout the lot. "Sam, jump out and move that cart, I don't want it rolling into the fender."

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes he got out to move the offending cart. As his brother joined him, he said, "You know, sometimes I wonder about this obsession of yours." Sam snorted as he watched his brother rub a speck off the hood.

"What obsession?" Dean asked distractedly. Shaking his head, Sam walked into the store.

Fifteen minutes later found Dean, in line, waiting to check out. While perusing the gossip magazines that littered the aisle, he glanced around for Sam. At last, he spotted his brother over in the produce aisle checking out the fruit. Dean looked down at his own items, his glance taking in the box of Ding-Dongs, the quart of chocolate milk and a couple of Slim-Jims. As he returned to reading the magazine in his hands, he found himself wondering if they truly were related.

A moment later the woman in front of Dean finished paying and it was his turn. Setting the magazine back on the rack, he heard his brother get into line behind him. As he stepped up to the checker, he turned to Sam and motioned him to put everything together.

It was then he heard the checkout girl say, "So, are you guys just passing through, or are you looking to settle down here. Cause you know we're..."

Dean closed his eyes and finished the young girl's sentence, "Really friendly here. Yeah, we know." Dean faced forward, reading the nametag of the young girl behind the register "Randy". He couldn't help but snort at the sight of the bleach blonde girl holding the box of ding-dongs he'd picked up. Her bright pink lips and heavily made up eyes only accentuated the fact that she strongly resembled both Candy and Mandy. Well, that and the fact her apron was folded over so it didn't obstruct the sight of her chest spilling over her vee-neck tee-shirt.

Regardless of Dean's frown Sam couldn't help but ask, "Do you have any sisters?" Sam regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth. The young checkout girl bolted out from behind the register and was pressed up against Sam within minutes. Red-faced, Sam could only glare at Dean as his big brother stood arms crossed, grinning broadly.

Dean watched as the young girl blatantly pressed herself up against his baby brother. The girl's reply spoken in a high-pitched whine only made Dean's grin broader.

"Which one of them have you met?" Randy asked as she trailed a long-acrylic nail up and down Sam's forearm.

Seeing the young girl up close made Sam to wonder if the girl was even eighteen. Backing up a step, only to end up bumping into the candy rack, Sam said "Uh, Candy, and Mandy."

Randy followed Sam until once again she was pressed up against him. "Figures, they always go first, oh well, all I can say is I'm younger and more limber." In a stage whisper, the young girl turned and winked at Dean, "I'm a gymnast you know."

Dean was about to laugh outright when the girl winking at him reached out and ran her hand down Dean's thigh. The older hunter practically climbed over the register in order to get away from her. Frowning at Sam's laughter, Dean finally put a stop to the girls flirting. With a stern look, he said, "Look, can we just get the food, neither one of us is in the mood to go to jail. You can't be more than seventeen."

At the girl's sudden pout, Dean realized he'd probably overshot her age by a year or even two. Sulking around the register, the girl began checking out their order. Dean winced as he watched her toss his box of ding-dongs haphazardly into a bag. Oh well, he thought, guess I'll be eating them with a spoon.

As she rang up the final tally, Dean handed her his credit card and signed his name to the slip she handed him. Ignoring her pout, he gestured to Sam and they hightailed it for the door. "God, I wonder if it's possible to purchase food in this town without running into one of them." Blowing out a breath, Dean slid the bag he carried into the back seat and climbed into the driver's seat. He glanced toward Sam as he started the Chevy's engine.

"Just let it go, Dude. Look what I got you." Sam held up a clear container with a grin of triumph. His face fell slightly at Dean's unresponsive look. "They're still your favorite right?" Sam held up the container and looked at the bright red berries. "I went through all the containers, and this one was the best."

Dean couldn't believe his brother remembered he'd always loved strawberries. An ache of sadness lodged itself in Dean's throat as he realized that his baby brother was probably the only one in the world that knew of his penchant for the fruit. Hell, Dad hadn't even known. Strawberries were often expensive and didn't last long, two things that kept if off the Winchester's grocery list. Watching as Sam's face fell slightly, Dean flashed his brother a genuine smile, "God, Sam, I haven't had strawberries in an age. Thanks, man." Dean threw the car in gear and headed back toward the hotel. As he drove, his gaze kept returning to the bag by Sam's feet.

888

Sam and Dean settled down on the small stoop outside their motel room. Sam grinned when he saw Dean's 'breakfast' spread out in front of him. The older Winchester's plate contained a handful of strawberries, two Ding-Dongs and a Slim-Jim. "All the major food groups, huh?"

"Damn straight, caffeine, chocolate, and meat. What more could you need," Dean said as he rolled his eyes at Sam's breakfast of cereal with berries on top.

888

Sam once again ducked out of the Impala, moved up the drive, lowered the chain, and waved Dean through. He watched as his brother pulled farther up the drive than before to prevent anyone from seeing the distinctive car from the road. Jogging toward the car, Sam joined his brother at the trunk.

"We taking the salt and lighter fluid, Dean?" Sam asked as he set about packing one of their duffle bags.

Dean blew out a frustrated breath, finally nodding, he said, "We better, I've got a bad feeling about what's in that room."

As the brothers headed up the drive, Dean continued, "I have no idea what to do about that mass grave. I mean someone should be alerted but, if the authorities come around and disturb the grave we could end up with a mass haunting."

"I know, I was thinking the same thing. We're really stuck. I mean eventually this land is going to be developed, and who knows whether disturbing the grave will cause any spirits to manifest. Also, it's not fair to the families of those people, Demonte had those people killed it shouldn't go unknown. Not too mention that freak McGregor." Sam shook his head in agitation. "I'm thinking we're going to have to risk disturbing the grave once we find and take care of McGregor."

Dean looked up at the house that loomed before him. He knew Sam was right, hell, in some of the surrounding counties Demonte had been considered a pillar of the community. It wasn't right, the man had been a cold-blooded killer, even if he wasn't the one pulling the trigger. "Let's take care of McGregor first, then we'll talk about the other bodies."

Dean and Sam continued into the house, Dean led the way upstairs toward the room he had been stopped from entering last night. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he felt an overwhelming sense of weariness. He knew whatever was in this room wouldn't be pretty, then again, he thought, what in his life was.

As the door swung open the tableau that lay before the brothers was heartbreaking. Dean swore viciously as he moved into the room, ignoring everything except the four bodies that were cowering in the far corner of the room. Due to the lack of moisture, the bodies of the victims were fairly well preserved considering how long they had been dead. Both brother's had little doubt just what had happened on that fateful day nearly sixty years ago.

Demonte's wife, Maryanne, was facing the door. She sat, slumped over only slightly, a small hole through the center of her forehead. Behind her in varying degrees of decomposition were her sons. Each one also had a bullet through the forehead.

Dean wiped a hand over his mouth, refusing to give in to the urge to vomit. It was obvious by the position of the bodies that Maryanne had died trying to protect her children. Dean could only imagine her terror. She had been killed either knowing her children would be next or else she'd been forced to witness their deaths. Dean turned toward Sam, his jaw clenched in anger. "We've got to get the bastard who did this, Sam. McGregor or Demonte it doesn't matter which, but we have to find out what happened."

Sam eyes shone with empathy as he looked over the brittle corpses of Maryanne and her children. Shaking his head, he took a knee near the bodies studying the scene before him. "The shots were fired from the door; the weapon was a small caliber gun." Sam stood and crossed the room toward the door to the hallway. Glancing at the floor, he noticed a stain smeared across the wood floor. It was a trail of blood.

Sam glanced up at Dean. "Someone was drug out of here, and from the amount of blood I'd think they were either dead or dying." Sam scanned the floor but noted that the blood stopped suddenly as if the body had been picked up.

A low keening cry startled Dean, turning he brought his shotgun up aiming it toward the noise. There in the corner of the room stood the black dog. As Dean looked on the dog lifted its muzzle to the ceiling and let lose a heartbreaking cry. Rather than its normally vibrant black color and solid looking appearance, the dog appeared insubstantial. It stood only inches from the bodies, its head hung low as it continued to make that eerie sound.

Sam blew out a breath and said to Dean in a low voice, "You know what we have to do."

Dean nodded and continued to study the dog. "I know, but I think it's best if we wait, at least until we can salt and burn that bastard McGregor." Dean watched as the dog lowered itself to the ground in front of the bodies. "Let's look around maybe we can find something to point us in the right direction. I mean obviously it was McGregor that was carried out of here, we have eye witnesses that saw Demonte leave that day."

The men began searching what was obviously the master bedroom. An hour later they'd been over every last inch of the room, when Dean cursed in frustration. "This is useless we don't know what we're looking for, or hell, if there's anything to even find."

"Dean, look." Dean followed Sam's gesture. As evening approached, the dog had become more and more substantial looking as it stood guard over the remains. Now, it looked as it had the night before, solid and alive. Gaining its feet, the dog let out a piercing howl. The brothers exchanged glances as the dog continued to howl.

The animal then turned toward Dean who stood in front of the giant canopied bed. Before Dean could react, it lunged towards him, front paws coming to rest on his chest. The weight of the beast knocked Dean backward onto the bed. Struggling to pull air into his lungs again, Dean scrambled into a sitting position. Holding up a hand to stop Sam from firing on the animal, Dean waited to see what it would do next. Whining, the dog began barking furiously, glancing toward the hall door over and over again.

"Alright, Dog Whisperer, it's trying to tell you something, any guesses?" Sam asked Dean, his eyes dancing between the door to the hall and his brother.

Dean ignored his brother and the dog's now near frantic barking; he slid off the bed, and quickly began pulling the sheets and blankets off the decrepit mattress. It was as he grabbed a pillow intending to toss it to the floor that he noticed the extra weight. Sticking his arm in the pillowcase, Dean's hand closed around a small hardcover book. Pulling out the nondescript book, Dean quickly opened to the first page. Holding it up for his brother to see, Dean grinned and said, "Yatzee."


	10. Chapter 10

Dean tossed the book to Sam and in one fluid motion raised the barrel of his shotgun. As he pointed it toward the doorway, he yelled to his brother, "Gonna have to skim through that later, Sam, it looks like we're about to get company."

Sam had grabbed the book and was quickly leafing through it confident that his brother had his back. Scanning the first page, he noted the name McGregor emblazoned across the page. Eagerly, Sam began trying to read the fine scripted print, easier said than done, the younger hunter thought. The print was small, cramped, and filled both side of every page of the book. In the quickly darkening room, Sam wasn't able to make anything out.

"We gotta shag ass back to the car, you ready?" Dean stood at the open door, watching the corridor. At his brother's assurance, he led the way moving at a quick pace. Silent as shadows, the brothers moved through the upstairs hall and back down the stairs. It was then the spirit of McGregor really stepped things up.

As the brothers moved along the corridor, a howling wind whipped at them. Dean began trying to duck the rubble that was flying at them. Bits of wood, furniture, picture frames, and even some small ceramic statuettes were hitting the brothers as they battled their way down the hall.

Dean knew they would be unable to continue, he was already sporting two new bruises to go with his scratched face, and he had seen Sam take a two-by-four to the ribs. Ducking into another corridor, he opened the door to the first room on the right. Slamming the door shut behind him and Sam, he stood with his back against the door. The room looked to be a sitting room. Dean quickly motioned to Sam who tipped the couch over, both brothers hunkered down behind it and drew steadying breaths. Quickly checking the loads on both the shotguns, Dean prepared himself for the siege he knew was coming. "You alright, Sam?"

"Yeah, board glanced off, it didn't do any damage just knocked the wind out of me," Sam answered, not bothering to ask how Dean was doing. He knew he would only receive the obligatory 'I'm fine' from his brother.

Dean nodded, handing his brother the flashlight. "I'm going to hold this son of a bitch off, Sam, take a gander at that book and see what you find." At his brother's nod, Dean turned his head and his shotgun toward the door.

Sam began scanning the pages of the journal as quickly as he could in the dim light of the flashlight. Reading, he began to get a sense of just how insane McGregor really was. The journal began in the fall of 1949 just months before the house was finished.

Sam flinched at the sound of the shotgun being fired. Glancing up, he could see McGregor outlined in the frame of the doorway. Dean fired another blast and tossed the shotgun to Sam in exchange for the one the younger Winchester tossed him. Sam quickly loaded the shotgun in his hands, mentally tallying the number of shells left.

Dean cursed, once again, as McGregor winked out at the last minute missing the spray of salt. The bastard was playing with them, Dean thought. He knew they would eventually run out of shells and then he'd make his move. The elder Winchester glanced at his brother and grinned. Sam had loaded the next gun and was now once again reading the journal.

All right, Dean thought to himself, all he needed to do was to buy Sam some time. His brother always found the information they needed. He'd never let Dean down before and today was unlikely to be the first. Bringing the barrel up once more, Dean fired at the figure that suddenly flashed before him. As soon as it disappeared, he slid out from behind the couch and rolled left, upending a table and placing it in front of him. Waiting, he stayed low and out of sight. As predicted this time when McGregor reappeared he didn't seem to realize Dean had moved. Dean took a second, sighted on the figure, and fired, the spray of salt actually sailing over Sam's head.

Sam lifted his head in confusion as a rain of rock salt pelted him from above. Glancing at Dean in confusion, he saw his brother grinning confidently. "What the hell, Dean, why'd you shoot me?"

"I didn't shoot you, I bought us some time." Dean had already gained his feet and was headed toward the door. Beckoning Sam to follow, he checked the hall and moved out once again, trying to find his way out of this labyrinth.

Sam followed still grumbling under his breath, "No, you shot me."

Dean turned, grinning he said, "No, Sam, I didn't shoot you, I shot over you. You of all people ought to know the difference. After all, last time it was you shooting me." Dean watched in satisfaction as Sam winced.

"Dean, how many times do I have to—" Sam suddenly reached out and yanked Dean to the ground. As he forced his brother down, he felt more than saw a plate sail over his head and crash into the wall behind him.

"What the..." Dean stood glancing at the shattered china that littered the floor. Unexpectedly something careened off Dean's shoulder, looking down he saw what looked to be the remains of a teacup resting at his feet.

"Oh shit," Sam said as he allowed the light from his flashlight to rest upon the walls of the room they had found themselves in. As far as Sam could tell every inch was lined with china, glasses, and an assortment of serving dishes. Within moment's plates, cups, saucers, bowls and glasses of every type came to life, all flying toward the boys with uncanny aim.

Sam and Dean covered their heads and made there way toward the door. Even after the two brothers left the room the crockery continued to fly, crashing in a symphony of rage. Taking a moment wasn't an option for the hunters, instead the minute they exited the room they ran headlong down the hallway.

As they moved, Dean glanced at Sam and shot him a smile full of arrogance. "At least it wasn't a room full of silverware." Dean smiled even broader at Sammy's grin.

"Okay the plan is we're going to—"

One moment Dean was in front of Sam and the next, he was gone. Sam just managed to slide to a stop instead of falling through the gaping hole that had swallowed his brother by throwing his weight backward. Sam lay stretched out on the floor, one foot hanging over the edge. He could hear the groan of the floorboards and he was waiting to see if he'd be following his brother into the basement.

Okay, arms working, check... Legs, left, right, Check...neck, up, down, left, and ohhhh... right that one hurt. Okay, Dean thought to himself, all is right with the world as long as I only need to look left. He cautiously took a breath and guessed that the pain in his chest wasn't broken ribs, but merely the beam pinning him to the floor. Forcing his eyes open, he glanced up in alarm at the floor above him. He could hear the floorboards groaning and he had a fleeting moment of worry before the world crashed down on top of him.

In a split second, Sam knew he wasn't going to make it. The floor was going to give and there was little he could do to stop it. Bracing himself, he only had time to offer up a prayer that he didn't kill Dean by landing on top of him.

Dean awoke to darkness and pressure, the darkness surrounded him, and the pressure centered on his chest. Not unbearable, only steady. He felt as if he'd been caught in a vice that had been tightened to the point of being uncomfortable. Unable to breathe properly, he found himself taking shallow breaths. Gathering himself, he called out, "Sam". Dean grimaced as he heard the weak sound of his own voice. Trying to take a bigger breath caused him to begin coughing and it took a moment before he finally calmed enough to call his brother again.

Sam could hear Dean calling to him, but, he was unable to answer. Gasping for breath, he took stock of his body and surroundings. He wasn't sure how it was possible but he felt pretty good. There was a minimum of debris on top of him and he'd landed on the dirt floor. Other than the fact that he was unable to breathe, he thought he was fine. Unable to ignore Dean's increasingly panicked voice, he tentatively called out.

Finding his breath was once again returning, Sam called out once more. Pushing himself up slowly, he began to make his way over to Dean. "So, I guess technically this time I followed you into hell, huh?" Sam rasped as he tried to find his brother in the mass of boards and beams lying on the ground.

"No, Sam, actually, I knew you were going to end up down here, so I went first," Dean answered weakly. Sam felt himself grinning at his brother's warped logic. "Now do you think you can get me free, I'm kinda pinned."

"Keep talking, dude, I'm having trouble finding you. I'm going to have to move a bunch of stuff." Sam sifted through the debris trying to locate his brother.

"Well, what shall we talk about, Sammy? Oh, I know, what'd you find in that journal?" Dean followed this sentence with another bout of coughing.

Sam winced at the gasping sound Dean was making as he continued to search for his brother. "Well, Demonte was definitely having people killed. McGregor was fastidious in keeping records. He listed everyone that Demonte ordered him to dispose of and the reason why." Sam forced down a cry as yet another nail scraped against the already raw skin of his hands.

Dean heard a low cry of pain from Sam and called out, "You okay? You said you were fine."

Sam could hear the accusation in Dean's voice. "I am fine, Dean, just broke a nail."

"Okay, Francis, be careful now. I wouldn't want you to break another on my account," Dean called out in a shaky voice. "What else did you learn?"

Sam growled as he lifted a piece of sheetrock, heavy with moisture and tossed it aside. "Not much else, only that McGregor was becomingly increasingly infatuated with Maryanne and disappointed in Demonte." Sam couldn't hold back his cry of triumph as he moved a piece of sheeting and found Dean's hand. Gripping it tightly, Sam asked, "Can you feel that?"

"Dude, get off me. Of course, I can feel that. Why is it you're always trying to hold my hand?"

Sam heard the words and was reassured, in spite of them, when Dean briefly grasped his hand. It took time but finally Sam had Dean uncovered except the large beam that was resting across his chest. Using his hands, he'd traced the length of the board and found that it was wedged on one side. The side that was propped up was all that was keeping Dean from being crushed. The other end rested on the ground. "Okay, you ready? I'm going to lift the loose end, you'll have to pull yourself out." At his brother's weak reply, Sam wrapped his hands around the beam and lifted.

Sam strained, lifting the beam higher and higher off his trapped brother. Muscles screaming in protest, he continued to hold it in place until he heard Dean say he was free. Making his way back to his brother, they both sat for a moment in the dank, dark. Shoulders barely touching Sam found he was mimicking his brother's breathing.

Now that Dean could finally take a deep breath, he was afraid he'd overshot the assumption that his ribs were okay. From the pain that increased with every breath he was thinking that one or maybe even two were at least cracked if not broken. Not wanting to alarm Sam, he asked, "You okay, little brother?"

Sam sat, hands rested carefully on his knees. "I'm fine, Dean, really. How are you?"

Surprisingly, Dean answered, "A bit banged up, but I'm alright. So this McGregor, did you figure out where the old man stuffed him?"

"Well seeing as it's McGregor's journal it's unlikely that Demonte wrote down the directions to his foreman's unmarked grave in it," Sam snarked.

Dean nodded wearily. "Yeah, guess it'd be too easy then. All right then, where's the window you climbed out of last time. Cause, I'm thinkin' it's Miller time."

Sam scrambled to his feet and held out a hand to his brother. Helping Dean to his feet, Sam asked, "So any chance of finding either the shotgun or the duffle bag?"

Dean's laughter rang out weakly. "You didn't think I dropped my weapon did you? Come on, a little thing like falling through the floor's not enough to make Dean Winchester loose his weapon. You take it though, I don't think my aim'd be too steady right now."

Dean carefully moved his foot until it made contact with the bag he'd held in his hands as he'd fallen. "The bag's right here." Dean felt more than saw Sam pick up the bag.

Sam rifled through it until he came to the spare flashlight he'd packed. Turning it on, he shined it on his brother, taking in his pale face and shadow rimmed eyes. "You look like a frickin' raccoon, Dean."

"Yeah, well that's because I spent the last three fucking nights in this shittin' house. I'm so goddam sick of the place I have half a mind to just torch the whole thing. Problem solved, you know, done deal." Dean began moving toward the wall, one arm wrapped around his ribs. "So, this window you climbed out of. You didn't board it back up after you climbed out did you?"

Sam stopped moving for a moment and glanced around the room they were in. He'd just assumed that they had fallen in the same area he'd fallen into the other day. Now, that he really looked he realized that it was completely dark. The only light was coming from the hole that Dean had created earlier. If he was in the same part of the basement then, there'd be two different holes, the one Sam had cause two nights ago and Dean's.

"Shit, the basement must be broken up in sections." Sam moved his hand across what he assumed to be the outside wall, feeling for windows again. He began to panic when he didn't come across any.

"Sam, give me the flashlight for a minute." Dean accepted the light from his brother and carefully scanned each wall and the area of flooring he'd crashed through. Quickly he tried to remember the basic floor plan of the giant house. "Sam, I think that window's going to be a no go. Near as I can figure it, we're trapped in the center of the house."

Dean closed his eyes wearily at the familiar growl that was quickly filling the confined space. "And I think McGregor's back."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Hey all I took a bit of liberty with the Black Dog at the end. Hope you enjoy - K

Sam could feel the tension in his brother, as they stood side by side staring up at the faint glow that marked the opening the boys fallen through. After a moment, the black dog walked out of the shadows to stand next to the men. The dog growled, deep in its throat but it also laid down, seemingly content to watch the opening.

"I think it's okay, McGregor must be off doing something else." Dean cocked his head listening intently. "Apparently, he's too busy destroying the house." The older hunter could hear the loud crashes, and the tinkling sound of breaking glass.

"Alright, here's the plan," Dean said as he tossed his brother the flashlight. "You're going to use the light and read that book. I'm going to find us a way out of here. The edges of that hole are still unstable and I'm not about to give you a boost out only to have you fall right back in." Dean moved toward the hole.

Sam shined the light at his brother and asked, "What are you going to use for light, we only have one," he said holding up the flashlight. Even in the darkness, Sam could see the flash of Dean's grin.

"I'm going to improvise Sam, just watch."

Sam did watch. He watched as Dean knelt down under the hole and began scraping the ground clear. After he had a circle about a foot in diameter, he dug into the hard packed dirt making a small depression. Next, he gathered up smaller pieces of the wood flooring and even a few splintered pieces of wood. "Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, after all, we could end up..." Sam's voice trailed off as Dean lit the small pile. As the light from the meager fire pierced the darkness, Sam couldn't help but gasp.

Dean turned toward his brother noting his horrified stare. Dean spun prepared to find McGregor behind him. Instead, he fought down a wave of nausea. There on the wall behind him, was a pegboard, probably six by six in size. Attached to the board, hanging from it in fact, were dozens of items that looked like dried apricots.

Sam was the first to say, "Ears, they're ears. The bastard took souvenirs." Sam approached the board carefully. At its base was a table, narrow and long, it was covered in what looked like a black silk shawl, the fringe nearly touched the dirt floor. On the table sat a framed picture of a stunningly beautiful, black haired, young woman.

"God, Dean, there's dozens and dozens of them, I mean even if they're sets I still can't believe how many people this son of bitch must have killed." Sam backed away a step, glancing at the rest of the basement.

Dean turned his back on the wall and drew in a breath. "Read, Sam, I'm going to get us out of here, and then I really think we are going to burn this bitch down." Dean resolutely ignored the prize wall and began searching for a way out. He figured if that bastard McGregor got in here to play arts and crafts then there must be a way for the boys to get out.

Dean picked a wall and began running his hands across it, feeling for anything. He was looking for a crack in the seemingly sold surface, a lever, or some type of press stone. As he continued looking, he glanced now and again toward the dog, confident that the spirit would give warning if McGregor came close. "You know, Sam, I don't get why he's not down here now. I mean we're like fish in a barrel man, he could pretty much pick us off one by one."

Sam looked up from the fine print he was reading and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "There's got to be at least twenty-five maybe even more people in that grave Dean, it says here he was picking up hitchhikers, hobos, and even miners to kill. It sounds like the first few killings were cleanups for Demonte. Apparently, Demonte, had a fondness for prostitutes and he was afraid people would find out. However, after that, McGregor began killing on the side. He'd bring them back here cut off their ears and hold their bodies down here. After a while when he'd collected enough he'd move them out back and burn and bury them."

Dean stopped what he was doing for a moment and turned toward his brother "What about the smell, Sammy? I mean how do you stockpile bodies in a half-finished house with half the town traipsing through without anyone noticing the smell."

Sam thought for a moment before bending down, picking up a handful of dirt, he allowed it to sift through his fingers. "Lime, maybe mixed in with the dirt. Also, you can bet that this section of basement was finished first and no one ever got near it again."

"Damn, I know why McGregor won't come down here." Dean turned toward Sam his face a study in anger. "That bastard Demonte. He must have heard the shots, gone to the room and found McGregor standing over his dead family. So, what's an obnoxiously rich guy going to do? He's gonna cover it up. After al, any inquiry would have turned up Demonte's side of the killings. So, he shoots McGregor like a rabid dog and drags him down here. Shuts up the house, sends everyone on their way and leaves. It's his property; I mean who's going to question a guy like that."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. "So, his body's down here somewhere and ghost McGregor is afraid to find his own body." Sam quickly lost hope once more as he looked around the basement. "We can pretty much guess it's not in this section Dean, I mean how are we going find it. It's like finding a needle in a stack of needles."

"Let's just get out for now. Then we'll see about tracking down the bastard." Dean continued his search, grateful to Sam when his brother added a bit of fuel to the fire.

Sam carefully placed a few more sticks to the merrily burning blaze. Leave it to his brother, Sam thought, to build a fire in a basement. The blaze was small enough to be put out in an instant and what little smoke there was, was escaping through the hole in the ceiling.

"Sam, come here."

Sam straightened and approached Dean's side. Using the flashlight, he added light to where Dean's fingers were digging into a long crack that ran floor to ceiling.

"I can't pull it out on my own, my ribs," Dean said as he waited for Sam to slip his long thin fingers into the crack. Pulling, both men strained to move the large slab of concrete. Slowly inch by inch, the opening became wider; finally, the door swung the rest of the way open on its own.

Light infused the chamber they were in and Sam found himself sending up a prayer of thanks as he caught sight of the window he'd climbed out of days ago.

"Alright, Sammy, decision making time. Do you want to head back to the motel, get some rest, and come back tomorrow or are you ready to finish this bitch?" Dean asked his arm pressed protectively against his ribs.

Sam drew a deep breath, his thoughts resting on the dog that had followed them into the next chamber, the monument of evil and the bodies they'd found upstairs. "Let's get him, I want to send that bastard to hell." Sam had to grin at the boyish look on his brother's face.

"Okay then, let's get that sucker." Dean turned and walked back into the hidden chamber, stomping out the small fire he'd made he gathered up their bag and returned to Sam. "We've got to find that body, let's start looking."

The search was actually a lot easier then either brother had imagined. Apparently, Demonte wasn't too worried about the law catching him, he'd simply laid the dead foreman in the far corner of the room, and had placed some packing crates in front of him. Dean and Sam had quickly found a discarded sheet; wrapping the remains in it, they had carried the body toward the window.

"I can't believe we can't find another way out of here," Dean griped as he set his end of McGregor's body down under the window. Glancing up at the open frame, he heaved a sigh. Normally, he'd have no problem hiking himself up and out of the window, tonight though, with the way his ribs were throbbing he just wasn't sure if he could manage.

"It's probably for the best Dean. This way we won't have to fight McGregor all the way out of the house. Here, I'll give you a boost," Sam said careful not to let on that he realized just how hard it was going to be for Dean to get out. "Then I'll hand the body up to you and you can drag it out."

Dean moved toward the window, placing a hand on either side of the window well. "I don't need you to give me a boost."

Sam waited, jaw clenched in anger, as he watched his stupidly, stubborn, brother try to hike himself up and out four times. It was only as Dean swayed, close to passing out, that finally took over. Cupping his hands, he gestured for Dean to step onto them, with a slight lift Sam nearly tossed his big brother out of the window.

"Easy there, Schwarzenegger, I just needed out the window not tossed back to the car." Dean said as he stood up. Reaching down, mindful of the pain in his chest, he said, "Sam, bag first, we need weapons. As soon as this bastard realizes what we're doing he's going to go all psycho on us." Dean grabbed the bag from Sam and quickly rummaged through it, pulling out his shotgun and a few spare shells. He'd feel better if the dog had followed him out but apparently it had taken off once again.

Sam felt his skin crawl as he picked up the remains. Even wrapped in a sheet they seemed to exude an evilness that sent shivers up his spine. He was careful to thrust the body through the window as much as possible to stop Dean from having to do too much pulling.

Dean knew the moment the body was out of the basement, it was the same moment all the hair on the back of his neck tried to stand up. "We got trouble, Sammy." Dean barely got the words out before a blast of wind knocked him to the ground. As he laid, Dean felt strong hands wrap themselves around his throat. As the pressure increased, he frantically tried to reach the shotgun that had been lying by his side.

Dean gathered his strength and brought his hands down as hard as he could on McGregor's wrists. Breaking the spirits grip, he rolled and got to his feet. Swaying slightly, he waited for the spirit to make his move. Surging forward, the foreman hit Dean like a ton of bricks. It was all he could do to remain standing upright. Locked in battle, Dean was only barely aware of the growling that was growing stronger every moment. Knowing what was coming, the weary hunter began simply trying to protect his ribs from McGregor's fierce onslaught.

As the black dog suddenly manifested out of the shadows, it flew toward McGregor in a wave of snarling, savage teeth, and claws. As the two spirits battled, Dean grabbed the shotgun off the ground. Taking aim, he barely acknowledged Sam as his brother came out of the window. He noticed this time the dog seemed to be losing the battle. The creature blinked in and out and was slightly blurry.

"She's not as strong out of the house. And I think he's not as strong in it," Sam said softly as he raised his own weapon.

Dean began moving, he was pissed, his chest hurt, and now his throat was also throbbing. No way was he going to allow the dog to sacrifice itself for the brothers. Pulling out the salt and lighter he worked quickly ignoring his brother's questions. Liberally shaking the salt over the sheet, he then saturated it in lighter fluid. Lighter out, flame struck and the sheet wrapped body of McGregor ignited in a whoosh of flame. "Take that you frickin' psycho."

Sam jumped back as a sudden ball of flame erupted less than a foot away. "Damn, Dean, you'll light the whole house on fire." He had to laugh at Dean's uncaring shrug. Sam turned toward the spirits and watched with a lighter heart, as McGregor erupted in flame.

"The whole house should be burned, Sam. It was built with blood money, by a blood thirsty maniac." Dean turned his attention toward the black dog. As he stood watching, the dog sank gracefully to the ground. The canine features began to morph into something beautiful and the black hair began receding.

The Winchester brothers watched in awe as the beautiful, black haired woman from the photo rose from the ground in a gown of flowing white. As tears flowed silently down her pale cheeks, she lifted one hand to the brothers. Her smile shined bright as a soft white light engulfed her, just before she winked out of existence.

The brothers exchanged a long glance. Finally, Sam gathered up the weapons bag, and turning the brothers walked silently down the driveway into the sunrise.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam opened his eyes slowly, disoriented by the dark room. He remembered collapsing into bed moments after he'd finished wrapping Dean's ribs. It had been around six o'clock in the morning. Sam moved his head slowly reading the digital display on the alarm clock. Eight o'clock in the evening, great, he had finally succeeded in becoming a vampire. This was the third consecutive day he'd slept the daylight away. As he, lay he wondered where Dean had wandered off to and how long he'd been gone. Sam would have felt panic at the sight of the empty bed and the open bathroom door, except he could see the keys to the car on the TV where Dean had left them. Sitting up slowly, he guessed it was time to join the land of the living.

Dean stretched out as much as he could in the wobbling plastic chair. God, he was ready to put this town in his rear-view mirror. The problem was, even though McGregor no longer actively haunted the mansion, it was still a magnet for evil. He wasn't too worried about the mass grave simply because in his ignorance McGregor had burned those bodies. It was the remains in the basement and the bodies of Maryanne's children that worried him.

Dean looked down at the bowl before him and picked up another ripe berry. He'd forgotten just how much he loved the sweet fruit, oh well, it wasn't surprising given the lives they lead. More often than not, the brothers denied themselves what they wanted, for the needs of others. Dean set aside the bowl, saving some for Sammy when he woke.

Just then, the door to the motel swung open and Sam stepped out into the night. Dean was glad to see that he seemed fine despite looking a bit tired. "Here take a load off." Dean passed his brother the berries as Sam sat down.

Sam stared down at the bowl that Dean passed him. He wasn't surprised to see Dean had saved him some. After all, as kids Dean had always made sure that Sam had the last bite of everything. Sam took one berry and passed the rest back "Thanks." Sam shook his head, but remained silent as Dean carefully put the wrap back on them, intending save the rest for later. He knew the strawberries would end up spoiling before Dean would eat the last couple, just in case Sam might change his mind.

"What are we going to do? We can't just let those people go unfound, and yet if we do turn it in, the excavation may cause more spirits to manifest." Sam rubbed his forehead tiredly.

Dean nodded "I know. I also know I'm wiped out and I don't want to think about it any longer. Let's go get a couple beers and a pizza; we'll sort it all out in the morning."

"Sounds like a plan, Dean."

888

An hour later found the brothers in the car, heading out of town.

"Where are we headed?" Dean asked as he maneuvered the big car onto the on ramp of the expressway.

"I have no idea, I'm out of suggestions. Let's just drive and see what we find." Sam reached out, turned up the radio a bit, and leaned his head back against the seat.

Dean was tempted, really tempted to just keep going, next town, next job, Sam asleep in the passenger seat, music blaring, night air flowing through the windows. Instead, the weary hunter pulled off onto the gravel drive of a place called Jim Bob's.

As the hunters made their way into the bar, they headed for a quiet table toward the back. Careful to keep the door and most of the occupants in their sights the boys began scouring the menus.

"Well, hello there, are you boys just passing through, or are you looking to settle down? Because you know, we're a real friendly little town," a cigarette worn voice asked. Dean almost found himself afraid to look up. Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he faced the waitress. The name Sandy was printed on the nametag she wore. Her hair was bleached blond, and worn in a beehive style. Her low cut shirt showed cleavage that was leathery in appearance due to too many years in the sun. Her face, while still handsome was well beyond the fist blush of youth or even to be honest middle age.

Sam smiled and said, "Just passing through, can we get a couple of beers?"

Sandy eyed the brothers up and down once more before walking away from the table. Moments later two cold beers hit the table as another voice asked, "I've been watching for you guys for days now, I thought you were just passing through."

Dean and Sam stared at each other before raising their eyes to Candy. Sam couldn't help but ask, "I thought you worked at the diner?"

Candy smiled and pulled up a chair, brushing up against Sam she said, "Oh, we all help Daddy out on Saturday nights."

Dean swallowed audibly and asked, "All of you?" At the sound of footsteps he looked up into Mandy's wide grin.

"Goodness it looks like a lucky night to be working, nice to see you again boys." Mandy threw a startled glance at her sister. Not to be outdone, she quickly drew up a chair and sat down next to Dean.

"Girls, Daddy says get a move on you know I can't serve people." The blonde that was breezing by the table did a double take at the sight of the two men. She stopped so fast the burger and fries she was carrying almost slid off the plate. Glancing at the plate and then her sisters, she dashed to the customer, dropped the plate with a clank, and made it back to the table in record time. Unable to get a chair near the brothers she dropped, with a wink, onto the tabletop.

Dean exchanged glances with Sam, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile. Sam lost all control at the appearance of Rand. He chortled with laughter, as he his brother began to laugh with him. By the time they'd finally gotten themselves under control, they spotted the towering figure of a grey haired man coming toward the table, Sandy in tow.

The man towered over the hunter's; in a low growl, he said, "You two wouldn't be laughing at my baby's now are you?" The big man cracked his knuckles for emphasis.

Dean knew the situation was quickly spiraling out of control, but he found not only did he not care, he couldn't stop laughing for anything. Gasping, he said, "No, sir."

It was then Sandy stepped between the big man and the hunters, waving a dishrag at the girls she shooed them along. "Now, Jim Bob honey, these boys aren't doing any harm. Go on back to the bar, and girls you get back to work."

Dean and Sam exchanged glances and stood at once. "Ma'am, it's alright we were just looking for a beer. We'll be moving along now," Sam said as he pulled out his wallet and dropped some money on the table. With a nod, the brothers left the bar still trying to stifle their laughter.

Dean climbed into the Impala, rubbing the tears from his eyes and hugging his sore ribs for a moment. Firing up the engine, he moved the car out into the night, toward town. "Let's hit the diner while we know the family's accounted for."

Sam sat weakly in the front seat, still chuckling he nodded, "Sounds good." A snort that sounded suspiciously like "Jim Bob" came from Sam and both brothers began laughing again.

888

Dean pulled up in front of the Library and was surprised to see a pickup in the small drive. Exchanging glances with Sam, the brothers walked up the sidewalk. Before Dean could knock, the door swung open. Carol welcomed both men with a kiss on the cheek.

"We were worried about you two, glad to see you're in one piece, well almost," Carols said as she took in Dean's bruised and scratched face.

Sam lifted a brow. "We?"

Carol nodded and blushed prettily. "Come on, lets go out on the porch."

On the porch sitting in a rocker with a piece of cake, was Ralph. He stood as the boys came out; extending his hand, he welcomed the boys warmly.

"I stopped by to see if Carol had heard from you two and she kindly invited me in for a piece of cake." Ralph sat happily digging into his piece again.

Sam and Dean relaxed, both accepting large piping hot cups of coffee and a slice of crumb cake. After several moments of idle chatter, Dean brought up the Mansion.

"We found the bodies of Maryanne and the children, also there were others. Probably close to twenty-five." Dean pulled out the journal and set it on the tabletop.

Exchanging glances with Sam, he continued, "We'd be obliged if you two could get that to the authorities. We're heading out today and would rather not deal with the uproar."

Carol patted Dean's hand and smiled at Sam. "Of course we can, I'll simply say I found it in a box of donated items. No reason for anyone to know you were ever here."

Sam nodded his thanks and watched as Carol resolutely turned the topic to something less serious. It was close to an hour later when the Winchesters finally stood. Thanking Carol, they allowed Ralph to walk them to the car. Sam hesitated a moment, he knew what he needed to say but he didn't want Ralph taking it the wrong way. Before he could say anything, though Ralph patted him on the shoulder.

"I'll keep watch, Sam, if anything happens up there again, I'll be in touch," Ralph said firmly.

Noting the evident surprise on the brothers' faces Ralph nodded. "I've kept my ears to the ground even after all these years. I've heard things, and I talked to Pete this morning. Now, I'm not saying I believe in ghosts, but I sure as hell believe in evil and McGregor he was about as evil as it gets. So like I said I'll keep an ear out and call if I hear anything."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, glad that someone would be watching the area. Shaking hands with Ralph again, he then slipped into the passenger seat of the car.

Dean held his hand out to Ralph and said, "You're not to blame, Ralph. You would have died if you had tried to stop him. Like you said, the man was insane."

Ralph smiled at the younger man's kindness. "Thanks for saying that, kid"

Dean raised a hand in salute and climbed in beside Sam. "Well kiddo, where to next?"

"Just drive, Dean. We'll figure it out when we get there." Sam leaned back and watched the world race by his window.

Dean smiled softly, turning up the radio, he guided the black car back out onto the road. With a guttural growl, the big car began eating up the miles to the next town.

**Chapter End Notes:**

As always I hope you enjoyed the story, thanks to everyone for the reviews I always appreciate them. Thanks again for reading - Kell


End file.
